


Howl

by CircusBones



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Families of Choice, Female Friendship, Feral Behavior, Friendship/Love, Male-Female Friendship, Orphans, Slightly Supernatural, Survival, Wolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:12:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CircusBones/pseuds/CircusBones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you were quiet, if you were small, little, if you seemed weak until the last moment, you'd live. You'd survive.</p><p>You'd thrust a machete up through a walker's skull and you'd live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It happens, blame fandom and bloody hope-canons.

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She flutters, somewhere in the periphery. 

Beth doesn't need to scold. The little girl stifles herself, small hands pressing against her mouth with care as the gun cocks, the shot fires, the dead fall. It's been a long time since a herd has passed through, especially with how far North they've come. It's the height of summer, though, and for all they'd hacked frozen, incapacitated walkers to pieces over the winter, fresh stock still wandered up come spring.

Judith had spent her life being silent. She was quiet, cool, unassuming from the day she learned to express syllables.

“Walker,” Daryl had taught her, pinching her plump cheeks, pointing to the hordes pressing against the old prison's fences, “Walkers bad. Uncle Daryl and his crossbow, good.”

They thought she didn't remember the prison, but she did, she definitely did. It was where she'd learned to walk, toddling on the concrete between Beth's clutches and Daryl's waiting arms. Right before the alarms had sounded, right before the flood of shambling, stinking bodies. 

Her daddy had died during that fight. So had the lady with the sword. So many folk had died, then. It was when Daryl had taken over, urged the remainders of their group North, and North had been safe for most of the year. Still, her grandpa had died, Aunt Carol had died, Sasha and so many innocents from Woodbury had died. Judith knew this mostly because they'd told her, but she also remembered, dimly, the soft voice of a woman from long ago. The rough scruff of white beard-bristles, the prayers of a mother who'd already lost a child.

Judith remembered. Judith was silent.

“All clear,” Daryl murmured, having swept the upper floors of the farmhouse with Beth. Outside, Glenn was watching the drive, Tyreese and Karen sweeping the backyard. In Carl's arms, little Orion was fussing, but only for a moment. His mother, Maggie, swept him up and hushed him, but Judith knew he didn't need much coaxing. 

She was teaching him, the little baby and the five-year-old. She was teaching him to be quiet, like she'd always been, from the time she'd been old enough to stop.

Beth had taught her that. If you were quiet, if you were small, little, if you seemed weak until the last moment, you'd live. You'd survive. 

You'd thrust a machete up through a walker's skull and you'd live.

“Alright?” Beth was asking, smiling, offering a hand. Judith smiled, rising from her crouched place in the vestibule, taking the offered hand.

“All my pieces are here,” She trilled, and was pulled inside, into their new home for the chilly, snowy season.

She hoped there'd be bones to gnaw on, come winter.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always get caught on the practical details, when it comes to the end of the world. I attribute this to growing up in a place where half the year feels like a snowy apocalypse, with roads often unmanageable, power often lost and a woodpile as a bit of a necessity. So basically, and especially as this is a side project, expect lots of meandering survival-type fun along with your inter-personal zombie drama!

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Beth liked this house. 

She'd ridden past it plenty on runs to the nearby ghost town, and when a fire had taken out most of their last home (of all the things to worry about, between other groups and the warmth-emboldened undead, their home of two years had been taken out by a _fire_. Raccoons in the generator. Even Daryl had laughed, noting that he thought they'd left the south in the south), she had quickly suggested the large blue farmhouse down the road. Whomever had lived there had run a florist off their farm, and the greenhouse was vast. It was closer to the road than Glenn had liked, but with winter coming and having to transport their crops, that greenhouse had decided it for all of them.

And for all the disadvantages of being close to a main road, there were good things too. You could see other humans coming real quick, for one. It had been the living, who'd killed Sasha last year. Might have done worse, if their own group had been any less experienced. Beth suppressed a shudder, banishing the memories, as they were busy clearing out overgrown or dead flowers from the greenhouse, bringing their own vegetables in. 

It was heavy, dirty work. Beth liked it. She liked arranging the corn stalks in rows, the herbs, the peppers and transplanting the potatoes. Oh lord, the potatoes! They were the best things, come winter. They never stopped growing, really, and they kept really well in cellars and bins and...

Sometimes Beth did still take pause, shaking her head at the things that got her excited now. Potatoes and defensible walls. Be still her heart.

Her sister was running her hands through the various medicinal herbs they were now bundling to hang up and dry. They hadn't really been able to transplant those, they'd had to harvest swiftly. The existing herbs would be dried out and rationed until the new crop was up, to the anxiety of Maggie and Karen, the women who regularly relied on them. Frankly, Beth was thinking more about how nobody had better get shot or cut themselves open on anything for a couple of months, but there were more mundane and inevitable worries too.

Condoms had expired three years ago, any back-stock of the pill, four. There was skullcap and pennyroyal now, that was all. And those were still not nearly as reliable, obviously. Orion had happened. Beth pressed a palm to Maggie's shoulder, giving her a little smile, hoping it was comforting. So they'd have to be a little more careful for a while. It was no reason for Karen and Tyreese, for Maggie and Glenn to stop living, stop having the one good thing still left in the world.

Not that Beth knew firsthand, of course. End of the world, 23 years old, still a virgin. 

She'd heard good things, though. 

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Daryl taking up leadership after Rick had died had come easily for everyone, except Daryl. He'd been Rick's right hand for so long, naturally people looked to him next. He'd only resisted the role for a while though before accepting it, and Glenn slid right into that right hand spot. Daryl carried the mantle lightly, but firmly. 

What's less clear is when Beth took over as protector of their hearth. That was much slower, but here she was, directing household things while her sister and Glenn set up a perimeter. Beth was a much better fighter now, she could hack a walker to pieces without breaking a sweat. But her first strength was still in keeping everyone else fed and warm and feeling like they had a real home to come back to, if only for a while. Maybe it had truly happened after Carol died. Maybe it was during their first winter, when things had been quiet, cold, but for the warmth and light she kept kindled.

However it had happened, here she was putting their new home to order in half a day. And there was Daryl, relying on her for all the things he couldn't do for the others.

“How's it lookin'?” He asks her, as she finishes hanging the herbs from the rafters in their rustic, new-to-them kitchen. He's scrubbing black and grey soot from his hands and forearms, having spent the morning cleaning out and repairing the three wood-stoves in the house. Beth shrugs, leaning back against the counter, allowing herself to relax.

“We're lucky we were still storin' most of our food in the cellar, and that most of the garden could be saved, but...” She sighs, flexing her aching, filthy fingers. “...We lost most of the dry goods in th' fire, and we damn near lived off those, end of last winter. All the warm clothes were stored an' went up too...”

“We'll get more,” He tells her, taking her dirt-caked hands almost without pause, rubbing the stiffness from them. “Shit's everywhere, we'll go into town soon, get you some rice an' beans.”

“Gettin' your hands dirtier,” Beth murmurs, looking up at him. He smirks, and it only falters a little as their eyes meet.

“I can scrub 'em again.”

His thumbs on her palms slow, eyes still fixed on each other, blue and blue. Beth catches a breath, as for a second the whole ugly zombie-filled world is reduced to the pressure of his rough fingers on her hands, the darkening of his eyes, one digit stroking the inside of her wrist. 

It's longer than ever, before he goes jittery on her. Before his eyes finally slide away from hers, his hands go to his sides, his hair, his gaze darting around the kitchen. Beth bites down on her lip, and where his nervous, little-boy ticks regarding any kind of closeness would usually get her grinning, teasing him, this time her heart's turning over in her throat.

He's never looked at her like that before. Like she was the whole world, too.

“Gonna check the generators,” He rumbles, rough and raw on his way out. Daryl does pause, though, just inside the kitchen entry, eyes gone softer again, fingers tapping on the door frame.“You been runnin' since dawn yesterday, girl. Go steal a nap with the kid, or somethin'.”

“S'a good idea...” 

She watches him go, his hands brushing Hershel's bible in its place of honor, over the fireplace, as he passes through the living room. Like he always did in their last house, every time. Beth lets out a shuddering breath, her heart dropping back to its proper spot in her chest, a new, long-forgotten warmth curling in her belly. She reaches up, tapping a bundle of mint and watching it sway back and forth, a little smile touching the corners of her lips.

New house, new eyes...she pulls in another breath, before slipping off to curl up with Judith. 

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	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a slow meandering beginning to creepy and strange. It's how I roll. Things will pick up very quickly! Also poor Judith, someone needs to give the odd little girl the talk, and soon. And no, there is absolutely nothing supernatural about this story, simply...the wildness that happens, at the end of the world, when raised in a comparable void.
> 
> This has gotten a truly lovely reception and I thank thee, from the bottom of my awkward heart!

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Judith rarely ever called her Beth. She'd called her “Mama” forever. Once, her big brother had told her that she'd started doing so as a baby, because Daryl had jokingly called Beth her mama while she was first learning to talk. Without any frame of reference she'd latched onto the word. It had felt right in her little mouth, forming the syllables, looking up with big eyes at the girl who held her the most, fed her most, who sang her to sleep every night that she didn't fall asleep in Daryl's arms.

Maybe she would have called Daryl papa too, had she not imprinted on her real father so strongly.

Well. Her real father cause he'd been married to her mother, cause they'd said he was, cause he'd loved her a whole lot, too. But Judith knew. They thought she didn't, that she couldn't understand yet, but she'd heard the conversations between Carl and Beth or Glenn. About how dark her eyes were, her hair was, where Carl had blue eyes and lighter hair. Maybe she didn't know how it all worked yet. But she knew that Maggie and Glenn slept in the same bed and loved each other and somehow that had made Orion, who looked like both of them mixed together. Somehow she wasn't exactly like her brother...

But he loved her. And Beth was her Mama and loved her too. 

Maybe it was good, that she didn't know people used to think families were supposed to look a certain way. Maggie, Glenn and Orion came closest, but even they looked different from each other, yet were whole. Her brother was her brother. Her Mama was the girl who'd found her renewed purpose in a little motherless baby, having tried to end her life a year previously. And right now, her father was the one who kept them all safe.

Judith didn't really understand yet what life had been before. All she knew was that she had a better and bigger family than most people ever did.

She wakes up from her short afternoon nap in the big, colorfully quilted bed in the smallest bedroom, the one she'd claimed right away for her and Beth. It was the one with toys in it, this family had had a girl her age. Beth is curled up sleeping still, curled around her close. Judith is careful not to wake her as she slips out of her Mama's arms, kneeling in front of the toys left haphazardly scattered over the floor.

Mama had called them Barbie dolls. Judith thought they were pretty. Like grownup versions of the baby-doll she'd had forever, the one Sasha had found for her. Their clothes were all wrong, though, too bright. Too easy for bad people to spot in the woods. And their shoes didn't make sense...Mama and Maggie had worn shoes like those, once, for Christmas. They were pretty, but you couldn't run or do chores in 'em very well.

The door swung open silently. Judith looked up from the dolls, smiling at Daryl. He glanced to Beth, dead to the world on the bed, and smirked, before looking back to the little girl. “Just makin' sure your mama's sleepin', don't wake her up.” He whispers. Judith shrugs.

“I won't,” She holds up the doll, frowning a little, “What do they do?”

Daryl blinks, “...M'the last person to be askin', kiddo.”

“No, but,” Judith sighs, “They're pretty. And they all look like mama. But where's the walkers?” She looks around, as if expecting there to be undead figures of equal size scattered around. She misses the aching, fleeting look on Daryl's face as she does. Because that's what she thinks all pretty, grownup girls did. 

“They're from before,” He tells her, voice a little gruff, “Weren't no walkers to fight back then.” 

“...So what did they do?” She asked again. And again, Daryl shook his head.

“Ask yer Mama when she wakes up, like I said, I aint got a clue.” He reaches for her little hand, as Beth stirs slightly on the bed, mumbling. “...Come'on sweetheart, y'can help me with the generators.”

“Okay.” Judith follows, dropping the doll and plucking up her small pocket knife from its spot on the nightstand, tucking it into her little jeans. Daryl's grip on her hand tightened.

 

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She used to wake up with a jump every morning, but that had been a long time ago. It pleases her that after years of running, and then a cold prison, and then running again, Beth has been able to sleep soundly for quite a while now. Occasional bad dreams notwithstanding. She let herself bury her face in clean quilts for a long moment, before pushing herself up languidly. The angle of the light filtering into the small, child-sized room woke her up a bit further, blinking, realizing how long she'd slept. Rising, she could smell the lingering scent of the supper she'd missed, and she couldn't help but smirk. They'd let her sleep.

Not many houses up north had the wide, winding porches Beth had grown up with, but this old Victorian did. It was one of the many reasons she'd loved it so on sight. Stepping out into the hazy sunset, to the sounds of loons, frogs and cicadas, Beth allowed herself to meander slowly along the wide, slightly warped veranda, drinking in the cool evening until she was facing the barn, the fields, the over-grown grass. The ramshackle old barn's doors were flung open and inside, Beth could see Glenn, Carl and Karen sound-proofing it as best they could with foam and worn-out blankets. Like they'd done for their last barn, for the few pigs and goats they'd managed to keep alive. 

On the grass, Orion was gurgling on a quilt watched over by Judith and Tamika. Far off, Maggie and Tyreese were walking the perimeters, rifles in hand. And crouched lazily on the porch rail, crossbow across his knees...

“Should've woken me up ages ago,” Beth grumbles, and Daryl chuckles, shaking his head. 

“What, and let you fuss over dinner?” He tilts his head, smirking at her, “Y'needed sleep. Carl an' Tami got food made, almost did yer biscuits justice, too.”

“My mom's biscuits,” Beth corrects him absently, eyes on the children, but she sees Daryl shrug out of the corner of her eye.

“Not that I've ever known th' difference, always been yer good food,” He notes, with as fond a tone as Daryl can usually manage. He sounds like he usually does when they talk, no hint of the nervous boy he'd been at noon, and Beth feels a strange combination of comfort and a twinge of disappointment. When she looks back at him, though, smiling warmly at the compliment, there are those eyes again. Staring at her, mapping the lines of her face, the way her lips part...

“Got the fuel all over here, generators runnin',” He tells her, clearing his throat, “Can go back to our hour of electricity a night, come the shorter days.”

“So you've been workin' too hard too,” Beth surmises with a little grin, which he tries not to mirror, and fails, looking away. “...I'll take first watch tonight, I'm more than rested.”

“Preciate it,” Daryl yawns, loud and long, letting the gesture cover up anything else that he might be feeling. Beth bites her lip, shaking her head. It's too lovely an evening to be annoyed with his avoidant nature that she knew so very, very well by now. In fact, she lets out a long sigh of contentment, watching Judith roll around in the cool grass.

“It almost feels like we're the safest we've ever been here, doesn't it?” She hears herself asking, breathing. She expects the far more pragmatic response from Daryl, but she doesn't expect it to be as soft, as equally content as it is.

“Probably just cause we've got four walls again,” He murmurs, catching her tone. The evening was too beautiful to break, “S'the relief in your bones, that we're all alive, under a roof...” Daryl pauses, wetting his lips, eyes on the fields and Tyreese's casual stroll. There's not a walker in sight, at least not for now. “But yeah, place does feel different, some reason. Feels happy t'have us.”

“Right poetic of you, Daryl Dixon.”

“Maybe,” He looks to Judith again, “...She asked me what girls like her did today, before everything happened,” Beth feels the pang between her ribs, even as the little girl's laugh carries across the yard, as she blows raspberries on Orion's tummy. Her little wildling...

“What did you tell her?”

“That I hadn't the foggiest,” Daryl chuckles, and she's able to smile again, pushing a hand through her hair.

“Don't remember much myself anymore,” Beth admits, and chances a look at him one more time as she's turning to go back into the house to get herself some dinner. She hopes, and his eyes do indeed follow her the whole way, as she's walking backwards away from him. That little smirk at the corner of his mouth, the way his crossbow shifts in his arms, his eyes drifting over her limbs. 

Beth sighs as she slips back into the house. Twice, now. Something had definitely shifted.

What was surprising her was how badly she found herself wanting it to.

It was a good thing there wasn't much to be seen that night once darkness had fallen on their new home, the yard silent and still but for Orion crying once close to midnight, from the tiny apartment Maggie and Glenn had claimed over the old garage. Beth's mind was further from the task at hand than was strictly safe, too busy drifting through various moments in the last six years of her life, and the man whose eyes had followed her through them all. 

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She waits until her Mama comes back sometime long after midnight, shucking off the day's clothes and swapping them for soft cottons. She waits until Beth's breathing evens out before she slips out of her arms again, a mirror of how she'd crept away that afternoon. 

Judith didn't sleep very much. She didn't know why, it's just how she was. Maybe it was because the grownups did more of the work that they needed more rest. Besides her reading and her numbers, not much was asked of the little girl. Maybe that's why she was always awake after midnight. Maybe that's why she'd gotten so good at sneaking.

Course she was never very good at sneaking past Daryl, even when he was fast asleep. His ears were too good, he'd been protecting them for too long to let much get past him. And now in this new house he was sleeping right in the front room, on the couch. In their old house, he'd shared a room with Carl, but Carl was in Tami's room now. 

Judith wondered why Daryl wasn't sleeping in her and Beth's room now, having lost his roommate, and Tami not sleeping with her and Beth anymore. They had made rules in the old house, about how nobody should be alone at night, it was safer. After only a little puzzling in the hallway over that notion, Judith remembered Orion, and her muddy knowledge on the subject filled in the rest. She was pretty sure Mama and Daryl loved each other. But maybe not in the boy-girl, bed-sharing way yet.

Somebody really needed to clear that whole thing up for her, and soon. Because it really wasn't safe for Daryl to sleep alone, toughest person she knew or not.

Peeking around the corner and into the front room, Daryl seemed distracted even in his sleep tonight. He was mumbling, eyes shut tight. Names reached her ears...Merle. Carol. Beth. Judith bit her lip, feeling bad as she crept by unnoticed. Something hurt him in his dreams. 

Dreams couldn't really hurt you though she thought, when she was outside and her bare feet were padding swiftly through the grass. Her knife was in her hand as the trees came closer, as she let everything from the day bleed out of her mind and all there were were the sounds of the forest in the night. 

Daryl had to know that, Judith figured. He had to know that you couldn't let dreams hurt you. Everyone had to know that, right, like she knew it?

Dreams were things you chased, followed into the woods, tracked the trails left by their bleeding jaws. 

Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she was awake. She'd know, if there was still blood on her hands come morning.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm never ever completely happy with how my ideas become words. But this time I might be close!

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If Daryl were honest with himself, he'd admit that he'd known it was coming for a while. Beth was tough and she was beautiful, having grown up a long time ago. She was also his unlikely partner, in keeping everyone not only alive but happy as well. It was impossible to miss her now, where back on the farm he'd have been pressed to even remember her name.

Daryl was getting better at that, the whole being honest with himself thing. He still might not be the most demonstrative or talkative person in the group when it came to the emotional things, a leader couldn't afford to be, in his opinion. But at least he didn't lie to himself about things anymore.

Which wasn't to say he didn't still come to some real stupid-ass conclusions, upon rumination. Like choosing to back away from Beth a bit, that first month in the new place, even as she'd taken up permanent residence in his head, in his periphery. Daryl had his reasons for trying to push aside the persistent, potent feelings .

He was failing spectacularly, of course.

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"Fifth time we've caught 'er this month," He's grumbling, presently, stuffing a case of soap into one of their rucksacks. The aisles of the department store are empty of walkers, anything perishable that might have tempted them in gone stale and half-fossilized years ago, so Daryl, Karen and Glenn aren't worrying that much about silence during this part of the run, "Crawlin' back inside with blood up to 'er elbows..."

"It's got to be sleepwalking," Glenn maintains, tapping a whole shelf of tampon boxes into his bag, one by one. Not even flinching at this point, he'd lived with a bunch of women for far too long by now, "Only time that kid ever slept soundly was when she was a baby."

"Yeah, but killin' small animals in 'er sleep?" Daryl shakes his head, poaching the shelves of deodorant. "Hell even I aint never managed that, even after..." He looks down, yanking the full bag shut and tossing it into their cart, grabbing another. There had been a lot of nights, usually after they'd lost someone, when Daryl would have dreams of the woods, of killing, of the hunt. But he'd always woken up in his own bedroll. "Kid aint right."

"She's been fine during the day," Glenn reminds him, "Just gotta...padlock her room, or something?"

"Or somethin'." Daryl slumped a bit, gruff mask dropping for just a moment, picturing the last time his girl had wandered home through the early frost. He loved the kid, but this was beyond him.

"Hope you boys like flannel," Karen called as she pushed her cart their way, also piled high with full bags. She'd been tasked with the food and clothes, and Glenn cringed.

"Well, Maggie does, on me," He sighed in defeat, "And it's warm. Still. Plaid..."

"Listen at you, thinkin' you can be picky," Daryl grins now, shaking off his mood and taking a look inside the first bag, "Gotta love the Yanks. Flannel in every size, print, an' color."

"Jeans too, though just your standard blue," Karen rolls a shoulder, "You an' Tyreese especially go through denim like paper."

"Cause we're manly men, doin' manly things," Daryl chuckles, glancing up and down the department store shelves as Glenn halfway protests, "We're in dire need'a new shoes 'round the homestead, too." He didn't need to note that Wal-Mart wares wouldn't really put up with the punishment their group put its shoes and boots through. Everyone around him had learned that lesson over the years.

"Spotted a store not far down the way," Karen nods, as they hurriedly tally, and then all head for the doors at the same time, "Looked worth the walkers we'll have to hack up to get in. I'd like to not have my toes poking out by January either." Daryl could appreciate the sentiment.

The shop is in a plaza that would probably have been categorized as run-down even before the world ended. In Daryl's experience, that meant it almost definitely had the quality stuff. Sure enough, past the emaciated walkers and rows of cobweb-covered Nikes were the work boots, Sorrels, leather goods. The hard-wearing stuff. Sizes memorized by now, the three of them plucked up the group's needs swiftly, easily.

Daryl paused by a row of girls' cowboy boots, and he couldn't help grinning. In Judith's size there was a little pair with pink and green scrolling, turquoise beading. It reminded him of shoes Beth'd had back at the prison, boots she'd worn down to the quick once they'd left, tossed aside for unimaginative, serviceable things and the memory has his throat going dry. She'd never had anything that nice, that long-lived again. He quickly plucks up the little pair (maybe they'd be a bargaining chip too, stay in bed, wear your pretties, or something), and then his eyes are scanning the rows for something in Beth's size, grown up.

He spots 'em, done up in brown leather with a riding heel and real tooled scrolling, a pattern of thistles and briars that reminds him of the fields 'round her daddy's farm. Daryl tucks both pairs into his own backpack, he'd give 'em to his girls himself. He doesn't allow himself to linger on why. He knew why well enough.

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She's waiting on the porch with everyone else when they return, and the way she pulls her long hair over her shoulder, the way it's lit up by the setting sun, has his full attention for a whole hazy minute.

"Gotchya somethin'," He says with a voice gone rough, handing over her boots. Beth laughs, surprised and then crooning, taking the offered leather and sliding a hand over the scrolling appreciatively. They were beautiful, if dusty, and made for farm work for all that they were pretty. She'd made do with shoddy stuff for so long, having boots that could actually last the winter had her lighting up in front of him. The colorful little half-matching pair he tosses to Judith, previously sullen from her timeouts for sneaking out, only seems to stir Beth further.

He knows she means to kiss his cheek when she wraps her arms around his neck, it's what Beth does, she lets folk know when they get her, make her smile, she's never lost that tactile nature. So maybe he turns his head on purpose to catch her lips, fleeting, sweet, in front of everyone unloading the cars before the farmhouse. She's barely surprised, her eyes fluttering shut. He feels her relief first, that he's alive and made it home, that they all did, that she feels his pulse of life. And then he feels the other things, the heat of her mouth, the lightest brush of her tongue, looking away from each other as they draw apart, as fingers linger on arms and hands.

Dinner's waiting inside, and so they don't address the moment and neither does anyone else.

Not until dark falls, anyway, and an old voice in his head starts telling him what a stupid, stupid sonofabitch he is.

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Maggie has first watch that night. The smirk she shoots Daryl's way, as she plucks up her thermos of tea and shrugs on her coat has him frowning down at his bolts. "Keep warm!" She sing-songs, tucking her gun into her belt and stepping out into the chill of early October. Daryl glares at the door in her wake from his spot on the couch, tucking his cleaned arrows away.

"Keep that smug look of yer face," He grumbles.

"Not likely," Beth's voice carries from the kitchen door, her hands wrapped around her own mug of tea. She sucks in a breath, glancing at him briefly and then away, but he sees the merriment playing at her mouth, "She uh, won a bet with Glenn this evening, out in the driveway, so..." Her cheeks color just a bit.

"Lovely," Daryl chuckles, shaking his head and reaching for his knife and whetstone. He aint really that annoyed though, scooting over a little on the couch. Beth takes his silent invitation, crossing the room and settling at his side, curling her legs up under her, her over-sized sweater around her legs. It's one of many girlish gestures she maintains, and the softness that every one of those stirs in him is getting to almost be too much. He clears his throat, "Everyone locked up tight?"

"For the last time, m'not locking Judith in her room," Beth sighs, grinning, "But yes. Carl and Tami even hit the hay early, he's got watch midnight to three."

"Better keep an eye on that," Daryl glances upwards, as if he can see through the floorboards and up into the two teenagers' room. Hell they weren't even at that end of the house, but still. Principle of the thing. "Most'a the birth control 'round here is still a bunch of seedlings."

"Oh we don't have to worry 'bout them," She notes automatically, and he'd argue that point, he'd seen the two kids together, how they'd been joined at the hip for months now. But something about Beth's tone makes him pause, squinting at her. She meets his gaze after a moment, and bites her lip even as she tries to keep her tone light. "Tamika can't get pregnant, Maggie and I are pretty sure. Cause of...well, because."

Daryl feels his blood chill in his veins at the reminder. They'd picked up Tami a year ago. She'd been the only member of the group who'd attacked their farmhouse, and killed Sasha, whom they'd spared, because she certainly hadn't been with 'em by choice. Hershel had passed a lot on to his daughters, but it was still a miracle that they'd been able to put the brutally abused teenage girl back together at all.

Times Daryl wished they hadn't killed those poachers so thoroughly, just so he could hack 'em to pieces all over again.

Then he'd bring 'em back to life again and hand the hatchet to Tamika.

A hand slipped over his arm, while Beth's eyes remained idle on the room, "And anyway," She pushed on, forcing a brighter tone, and Daryl wondered where along the way she'd gotten to know his moods so well, what would set them off, and what would tuck them back away. There were a lot of things he'd failed to notice while they'd all been surviving, it seemed. Like Beth learning how her counterpart in this whole strange dynamic ticked. "Even if she was ready for that, I'd know if they had sex." Daryl snorted.

"Why, cause Carl'd tell you?" He asked, all skepticism and a lofted brow. Beth grinned.

"No, god, never," She shrugged, "Just somethin' Carol taught me once, when I tried t'bullshit her about bein' enough of an adult, that boozy night we had back at the prison," She tucks her hair behind her ears, and he's more fascinated by her fingers than ever, "She said she'd see it all over my face, if I'd really ever had sex with Jimmy. And that even if I had, it didn't mean I could handle my liquor yet." He chuckles.

"Carol knew how t'read folk, for sure. Comes with always bein' watchful, can't say I ever got that particular skill with people though..." He eyes her again, "So I take it our sweet Carl...?"

"Might be older'n me in a lot of ways, but not this 'un," She grins wider, "...I think they're both happy enough, just keepin' each other safe at night..."

"That's a sweet notion hun, an' it might be th' right one for now, but," Daryl set his knife aside, reaching for another, running it cleanly along the stone's edge, "Boy's still nineteen. An' male. Keep them eyes of yers open."

"Such a pessimist!"

"Realist," Daryl maintained, with a little smirk. She was quiet at his side for a few long moments, the only sounds being those of the house settling, the last of the frogs singing outside in the cold, and the scrape of his knife. She settles back against the sofa, the nearness companionable, comfortable, even as he's hyper-aware of her. When Beth speaks again, it's very softly.

"...Did you and Carol, ever...?"

From anyone else, at any other time, he'd reply with a strongly worded suggestion that they mind their own goddamn business. Now, with her, Daryl just smiles a little, nodding, tentatively allowing himself to enjoy the warmth of the memory. "Couple times," He shrugs, "We was never like that, though...well," He pauses, looking up to the ceiling in thought, not even questioning at this point why it's so easy to say this to her, "S'kinda dismissive, aint it? Sayin' someone's just yer friend. Friend's a damn good thing t'have, and god knows I aint had many."

"S'like my daddy used to say," Beth says, still softly, "Love is all kinds of things."

"Wise man, yer Pa," Daryl's voice did go rough at that, resuming his sharpening, "...Why'dja ask?" Out of the corner of his eye he can see her look down, twitching her fingers in their fingerless mitts. The tips of her ears even go a little red, but she answers him, her voice almost as small and timorous as it had been when she was seventeen.

"Well, just, what you said about Carl, made me wonder..." She murmurs, "Everyone wants it, or wants someone to just be close to, even, but you've been on yer own for as long as I've known you. Keepin' even the folks you care about at a distance..." They're getting closer to the thing, here, and Daryl shifts a bit, swallowing, staring at his bowie knife for a beat.

"...S'complicated," He hears himself answer in hardly more than a whisper, staring fixedly at his hands.

"I'm smart." She says it with a smile, and even then, Daryl can't resist the faintest hint of one in return, shaking his head.

"Explainin' it aint the complicated part," He corrects himself, pushing out a long breath, knowing that Daryl Dixon of five, even two or three years ago, wouldn't have been able to say this much to anyone, maybe not even Carol, "It aint hard, sayin' that the two people I've loved most in the world are gone now. Only folk I ever let have a bit of my heart."

"...Think everyone could understand that," Beth notes, softly, shifting closer to him on the couch, "We're all any of us has left."

"S'the complicated part," Daryl coughs out a laugh, scrubbing a hand over his stubble, "In my head, I know that. Doesn't shut up the voice, one sounds too much like my goddamn brother. One that says I aint like the rest, that I got a curse on me. That if we get any closer, you'll be ne-..." He's cut off, as her arms slide around his neck and her lips are slanting against his.

Daryl finds it kind of amazing how a mind's higher functions can just...flip off, like a light switch. That thought comes later, of course. At the moment he's got his arms around Beth, kissing her back as a groan tears out of his throat because she's there, alive, she's pressed against him and raking her hands through his hair and of course she jumped for him cause that's Beth. Chasin' off the dark in folks however she can. For all that she's so slight, so short and slim, her arms are strong and the fingers that brush the back of his neck are calloused, firm.

The warmth of her mouth is almost too much, she tastes like mint tea and while she's riled up, the sweet girl still aint been kissed in five years. His hands sliding down to rest at her hips, he's determined to remedy that fact, feverishly kissing her until she's got the hang of it and they're both gasping for air, and then they're devouring each other again.

Those higher brain functions decide to come back right about the time that he's kissing up under Beth's jaw, and she's breathing out his name in a downright dirty little whisper that goes right to his chest and points south. That fucking voice in his head laughs, trying to stomp out the hot, possessive fire she's kindled. Reminding him that she was special, that he might even love this girl so of course it was gonna take her away.

A cold, cynical, Beth-less world. S'all Daryl Dixon would make.

He stills, his lips hovering over her neck. He lets out a long sigh against her skin and feels her freeze, tense, and then pull back slightly, cupping his chin and tilting his head back up so he'll look her in the eye.

That's a mistake. Daryl swallows hard, staring at her parted, ruddy lips, her cheeks flushed with life, the state of her hair. "God, yer gorgeous," He groans, falling back against the couch. If there'd been a moment of fear, of rejection on Beth's face when he pulled away, it's replaced with a rueful, disappointed softness now. And that just makes him want to yank her right back into his arms and keep her there all night, but he doesn't. "Beth, I..."

"I know," She murmurs, sliding out of his lap, brushing her hair back. "Like y'said...complicated..." He shuts his eyes, shoving his palms into the sockets until he sees stars, until blood starts returning to his brain, where it belongs. "Daryl..." Beth whispers, and he feels her fingers in his hair again, eyes remaining shut, "Y'aint got a curse on you. No more than any of us do, anyhow."

"Maybe not..." He turns his head, opening his eyes, knowing he might look a little nuts as he does. Sure enough, Beth pulls in a breath, meeting them. He knows he can get intense. She doesn't move or look away, though, and he lets her see it all. How much he wants her, how he's dying to tell her that she'd breathed more life into him that night than he'd felt in years, that none of 'em, least of all Daryl, would last long without her, "...Don't know if I'll ever shake this thing in my head, Beth, but..."

"If you can't," She says, framing his face in her hands and for a moment, her own eyes are as wild as his. No...more. They're as wild as Judith's, when she comes back through the morning mists, all bloody and feral. "Then I'll try and lift that curse m'self." The kiss she leaves on his lips is feather-light yet somehow searing, fogging up his head all over again before she goes. In the best way.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this one took a bit, lots of friends over, beer brewing, etc going on. Plus I can be such a perfectionist over the pitch and tone I want this to have, between Daryl being a mess of a human and making sure everyone else is established as well. Anyway, I do hope you enjoy, and thanks SO much again for the overwhelmingly positive reception! (with few exceptions, come now, ship wars are juvenile and counter-productive. Let's all celebrate the fact that we're a bunch of sex-positive people who just want to see our faves happy and laid).

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There were kittens in the barn, and nothing short of the world ending (again) could tear Judith away from the hayloft once she'd discovered them. Not even the Autumn storm outside, in fact she kind of liked the sound of the rain on the old roof, though the claps of thunder were still startling. Judith just buried herself in hay and kittens when those happened, watching them paw and play under their weary, feral mother's eye.

Mama had told her that folks used to keep cats inside their houses. Judith had once had a hard time picturing that, she'd only ever known cats as the wild, expert hunters who kept mice out of barns and storage units. Now, seeing how their little ones behaved and how they took care of them (and how cute they were), it was easier to imagine.

After a space of time she heard voices from below, and scooting closer to the edge of the loft Judith listened as Maggie was feeding the goats, Glenn rocking Orion nearby. "There was just way too many of 'em out, for how cold it's gotten," Maggie was saying, shaking her head, "This time last year? Rotten joints were already freezin'."

"I think these are coming up from the south," Glenn replies, his voice low, as if his son could understand him yet, "There's more meat on them. I mean, they'll still be popcicles come the freeze, but a little cold isn't slowing the fresher, better-fed ones down."

Judith thought of how many walkers they'd see in the farmyard that morning, the sound of Glenn's rifle picking them off waking her up at dawn. It hadn't been a large herd, not like some of the others she'd seen in her short life. Even so it had taken an hour to clear them all, their grassy new home stained with undead gore.

Beth had been glad of the rain, washing some of it away. Judith had been transfixed, watching the mud run off and out through the yard, red and black with dead blood. Whatever had calmed inside of her, somehow, the night before, falling into an easy slumber hugging her new boots, it riled up again then. See the dead in pieces. Even now, the memory both excites and frightens her. She buries her face against a squishy little kitten.

"Even if they're frozen to the ground by November, he really shouldn't be takin' this risk, tryin' to clear the woods on his own," Maggie went on, and Judith frowns, listening, creeping closer to the edge of the hay loft, "In this cold an' rain? Man'll catch his death."

"Possible," Glenn snorted, and Orion gurgled in his arms, the goats joining in with a bleating, "You know why he's out there, though..."

"We're all terrified of that girl runnin' right into a walker some night," Maggie sighs, and Judith feels her stomach flop over, "Solution is simple, though. Lock 'er bedroom."

"S'Beth that needs convincing there, not Daryl," Glenn chuckles, "Nah he's out for more than just that. He wants us all to have a home, with a wide berth from the dead...hell, so do I."

"You're not out bein' a damn fool about it though, thank the lord," Maggie moves to take the baby, Judith can see now, holding him close, her voice gone soft and crooning.

"Nope, because he ran off before Tyreese and us could follow."

They're quiet for a moment, the three of them, while Judith feels that uncomfortable tumult continue in her insides. Daryl was out in the cold and rain making sure the woods were safe and part of it was because she sneaked off sometimes.

She really did wish she knew how to stop...

"...Y'think he knows? How much of a fool he is for th' two of 'em?" Maggie's smirking when she asks, and Glenn shrugs, pulling up the hood of his jacket. Maggie tugs a poncho over herself and the baby, taking Glenn's hand as they move to leave the barn.

"If he survives today, I'm smacking him upside the head about it." Glenn answers as they go, "I'm tired of losing bets."

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Beth thinks she's doing an excellent job of concentrating on the task at hand, all things considered. The majority of their corn crop had been drying out in the rafters for weeks and today, with the rain pounding outside and a warm fire behind her in the wood stove, she's running it all through a hand-held grinder. It's tedious work, and Karen is currently scouring the farmstead looking for anything else that could grind the stuff and thus lighten her load, but Beth kind of likes the hard monotony of making cornmeal. The ache in her shoulders is a good distraction, as is the barn kitten she'd let Judith play with on the kitchen floor, the two of them weaving between her feet.

She wasn't thinking about Daryl out there somewhere, not at all. Except when she was, usually during a pause, emptying the new cornmeal flour into a clean wax bag, reaching for more kernels to grind. For all they'd gotten somewhere just a little the night before, one field of dead walkers and it felt as if it was all undone. Or maybe they'd made his fierce, protective side even less rational. Either way, the walls that had come down and allowed them to speak plainly were back up, it seemed. And despite her pleading for him not to that cold, misty morning, Daryl had stomped off into the trees on his own and hadn't come back yet.

Off to clear a swath, as if it could ever stay clear before the freeze of winter. Maybe he just needed the woods, period...

"How d'ya make babies?" Judith asks from the floor, and Beth's arm slips as her thoughts are sharply jarred, "Sorry," The girl mumbles, looking down at her kitten again. Beth frowns, turning, sucking lightly on the thumb she'd jammed on the counter in surprise. It wasn't like Judith to look so contrite.

"Just startled me, is all," Beth assures her, sighing, leaning back against the counter and figuring she could use a break anyway. She smiles a little, tilting her head, cracking her sore knuckles, "Kitten got you thinkin' about that?" The little girl nods, and Beth isn't surprised. She'd grown up on a farm too after all, and had started asking the same questions at about Judith's age, after one of their horses had foaled.

"Well.." Beth launches into the basics without much trouble or embarrassment. Judith had led a blunt life, frankly, and she already understood how boys and girls were different. Beth found herself just repeating the information she'd been given at that age (minus the healthy, albeit unconscious dose of religious guilt regarding bodies). "...But it's only for when you grow up, and when you really like somebody. Or even if you just want to make a baby, sometimes girls grow up likin' girls, boys likin' boys." She concluded, keeping the language simple, watching as it seemed to sink in for the child, "It's all normal and natural and everybody does it, but it's only 'propriate when you grow up."

"So, that's what a mom an' dad are?"

Beth had to pause, thinking that over, wondering how to explain this particular difference to a five year old. "Well, yes...and no..." She begins, slowly, "...Yes, cause that's how a baby gets made. No, because sometimes those aren't the people who take care of you, bring y'up, you know?"

"Like how you didn't carry me inside, like Maggie carried Orion, but you're still Mama," Judith nods, and Beth feels a familiar, though no less striking warmth inside. But Judith still looks troubled. "...So Carl and I, we had the same mama, but we got different daddies then, huh?"

Beth swallows, hard. Oh, goddamnit.

None of them realized just how much Judith saw, heard, understood of their conversations, of their meaningful looks. But honesty, always, that was how she'd raised Judith thus far. She'd been too sheltered during her own upbringing as the baby of her family, and it had nearly killed Beth, for how unprepared for the harshness of life she'd been when the world ended, "...Yes," She nods, "Yes, your mama loved Carl's daddy, but thought he'd died, so. There was someone else for a little while."

"What was my daddy like?"

...Honesty almost always. "...I think maybe Carl's the best one to tell you that," Beth puts on a smile, reaching out to brush back Judith's dark hair. The kitten in her lap mews, "I didn't know him very well at all." Not a lie. But Beth had known enough. "...Judith, that's all just the mechanics, yeah? I mean, Aunt Maggie and Glenn love each other and they're a family with Orion. But just cause you were made a certain way, doesn't mean your family isn't..."

"I know," Judith surprised her again by nodding, finally smiling again, hugging her kitten. "Just. You get eyes and hair and the color of your skin and stuff from your mom and dad who made you, yeah?" Her little brow furrows, and Beth is forever in awe of how smart, how perceptive she already is. But then, Judith had never been around children her own age. She'd only ever been among adults, and one infant. "...What if I got the part of me that runs away at night from one of 'em?"

"Oh, sweet girl..." Beth kneels, wrapping her arms around her little wolf child, "It's not safe, and you really need t'stop, but nobody's mad at you for that..."

"D-Daryl's out there c-cause of me," Judith's voice starts to stutter with tears, and Beth clutches her closer. Between them, the kitten mews, "K-k-keepin' us safe, you an' me m-most of all, and he-e-e might get s-sick or hurt c-cause he's alone..."

The most perceptive. Beth swallows, brushing a hand through her girl's wild hair again, "Sometimes..." She starts, in a whisper, "Things come t'you from blood-parents. But they come from other people you love, too. Maybe," She kisses the crown of Judith's head, right in her little pale part, "Maybe you like bein' alone, like Daryl. Maybe you wanna prove yourself, like me an' Karen, or like your big brother..."

"Maybe..."

"S'not your fault, Judith," Beth hugged her close again, though she did have to wonder, gnawing on her lower lip as she did. What kinds of fearsome children this world of theirs had created.

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He'd set out with a very clear plan: Kill every walker in sight.

Thing was, after their slaughter at the house there really weren't that many stragglers in the woods. Which didn't much serve Daryl and his riled up blood, his anxious, turned-about head. He'd ached for a massacre, he realized as the rain started falling. He had wanted blood and gore far into the trees, clearing a path. But for all these walkers had looked well-fed and that was alarming, how far they'd likely traveled for fresh meat, it had still been a small herd.

His anger evaporated into the misty, cold day, and he was left with twitching nerves, heightened senses. A wrecked head for his homestead, a place he wanted so badly to be theirs for a long time yet.

There hadn't been many people in his life that Daryl had loved. Not compared to the average person, anyway. And while the lengths he'd have gone to for Beth or Judith had always been endless, now it was in the forefront of his mind. For all he was conflicted, and all right, afraid, of letting Beth pull him into what he'd wanted so badly for so long, everything was still amped up.

Also, this was a fear, an enemy, that he knew how to fight off. He didn't know how to fight off his own voices in his head, his own damage, his own bitterness. But he knew how to do this. The home turf was threatened. Daryl defended it.

Only not today, it looked like. The woods were free of the dead, and the rain was coming down harder and colder. If he stayed out in it much longer, water would soak through his poncho and wreck havoc with his crossbow, not to mention his health. Stubborn he may be, but Daryl knew well enough how useless and insufferable he was when he was sick.

With a sigh he made to retrace his steps, puzzled as to how to steady himself again in her presence. Until, peering into the trees, he spotted an old deer stand up in the branches. Daryl only paused briefly, before heading that way through the misty, cold forest. It had a roof over it, half-walls that would come up to his knees, and if nothing else he could dry off a bit before continuing on home. Gather up his head. Climbing the old notches in the tree easily, Daryl settled onto the dusty old boards gratefully, resting his back against the rough trunk of the pine.

The view was rather better up here, he mused, and still there were no zombies shambling through the mist. He allowed himself to relax, shaking cold rain from his hair. Relaxing had its perils, of course, as he dried off his crossbow with an old t-shirt from his pack. The rain beating out a lively tune above his head, Daryl got caught up in the memory of her. Soft lips, her breathy voice, those pretty little hands which in a fair world, wouldn't have been so calloused. Rubbing a twitching hand over his face, his jaw, he tried to stuff away the thought that, in a fair world, they'd likely have never even met.

Eyes sliding to the side, trying to distract himself, Daryl spotted a small, rusted metal tackle-box tucked in the corner of the stand. With a chuckle, he found the only contents to be a few old casings and a bottle of homemade moonshine.

"Apple an' maple moonshine, even," He noted outloud, after taking a whiff. "Lord bless ya, Yanks." Daryl toasted the ghosts of New England, before taking a short swig. He turned over the thought of draining the bottle as he sat...it would sure make him feel warmer, maybe calm down these damned jumpy nerves. But no, Daryl tucked the hooch away in his backpack. Drinkin' was for good times, for when things weren't muddy, that had been the rule for a long time now.

Not when he felt like brooding on his own fucked up, traumatized head.

Just as the notion passed, he heard a light footfall down below. Rising slowly, silently, crossbow in hand, Daryl could see the ten-pointer's shaggy head through the mist. The buck was ambling by, a doe just over his shoulder, and he was massive. And healthy-looking. Daryl smiled just slightly, wryly, as he adjusted his sights. His aim was suddenly steady, his hands firm. Here was another thing he knew how to do.

Universe seemed to be reminding him of all the other ways he kept his own safe, sound, fed.

'Sorry, 'mam,' He silently apologized to the doe, just before his bolt found her mate's heart.

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She lets out a long breath of relief that afternoon, when she hears Tyreese calling a greeting from the yard. After only a few moments of self control, Judith bolts from the kitchen, kitten in arms. Beth grins as she hears an 'oomph' when the girl runs smack into a pair of gangly legs on the porch.

"Deer's hangin' in the barn, go have a look y'lil' beast," Daryl tells the little girl fondly, and Beth looks out the window to see her running off over the wet grass and toward the barn. The grass was so green again, you almost couldn't imagine the twisted, dead bodies that had trampled it that morning. Beth could, of course. She steadies herself, sewing shut her third bag of cornmeal, her arms stiff and sore.

It isn't easy keeping herself there, calm, not even looking up when he stepped into the kitchen. But she does, until he says her name quietly. Beth meets his hesitant gaze, unable to keep from smiling a little. He looked so much younger when he was nervous. And then she sees what a mess he is.

"...Jesus, get near the stove," She gasps, making him smile back just a bit, striding forward and pushing him closer to the wood stove, yanking his soaked poncho up and off.

"Bossy," He grumbles, pushing a hand through wet hair as she hangs the thing off the back of a chair to dry. There's still that grin when she turns back to him, and her expression softens, a warmth moving over her cheeks, down through her chest. He surprises her, tugging her in with a vaguely bloody hand, wrapping her up in his arms. Beth lets out a shuddering breath, shutting her eyes. The shirt under her cheek is damp, but warm, and his heart is beating so very fast. "...M'sorry I ran off."

"...Mostly I just was dreadin' you with a flu," Beth finds herself murmuring, his chin resting on top of her head. She feels him chuckle, his clean hand moving into her hair, tugging her back slightly. Daryl scans her face for something, Beth's not sure, with his furrowed brow. Maybe he finds it, because then he kisses her, fierce and slow and deep. She savors it, standing on her toes, trying not to count the seconds until he ends it, and to just feel. To breathe in the scent of the woods, the taste of something sharp yet sweet on his tongue.

After some moments his hand starts to tremble in her hair just slightly, and so Beth is the one to pull away, her eyes opening, her lips parted with a smile. Daryl meets her eyes for a moment longer than she expects, just as fierce and focused, before his gaze slides away. "...Got t'go change and gut a deer..."

"My hero," She sighs dramatically, her accent gone full Southern Belle and it does the trick, breaking his tension, making him grin, shaking his head. He wraps an arm around her neck, kissing the top of her head before he leaves.

Beth touches her lips, with a heart beating as fast as his had. This wasn't simple or easy to navigate. She didn't mind at all.

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	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but as I've figured out the ending, be assured that updates will be more frequent ;) And okay, I lied. Maybe a LITTLE supernatural.

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"I am just living to be lying by your side..."

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Gutting the deer is easy, familiar. Daryl hardly flinches as the innards spill into the waiting bucket, handing it off to Tamika when it's full. The daughter of a butcher in the world before, she doesn't flinch either as she began sorting through gizzards and entrails, plucking out the bits that would become good sausage in the winter months. Her daddy had gutted plenty of deer after the end of the world too, and had shown her how.

"Fuckin' smells a lot better 'en most of the guts we experience," Carl jokes, helping her clean out the intestines. Daryl and Tyreese start in on skinning the carcass, the former grunting in agreement.

"S'a sad commentary on all our lives," Daryl wrinkles his nose. And he'd been hunting almost all his life. "Even back 'fore the world ended, never did get used to the stink of cleanin' out the gizzards."

"You're still miles ahead of me," Tyreese hums, as they slowly, carefully tug off the buck's hide. It would be invaluable, dried and tanned. Line someone's coat, or more likely become one of their blankets. Long-lasting, long-wearing, water-proof. Sliding a hand along the fur as it came off clean, Daryl did have the notion of making a couple of pairs of moccasins. Then again, winter didn't last forever up here. But if ever they'd need to go further north...he pictures Beth in a pair of hide moccasins, and smirks.

"You've gotten real good at skinnin' since the world ended," Carl's conversational tone draws him back, still talking to the taller man, "But ch'ya never went huntin' before?"

"Grew up in the 'burbs, so nope," Tyreese chuckles. "Only dead animals I ever saw before the world ended were in mousetraps."

"And all the meat you'd ever eaten," Tamika reminds him, wryly, and even Daryl has to grin at that. Cleaned, skinned and gutted now, he sets the carcass on the scrubbed wooden table before her, and Tami gets right to work with her cleaver. There's a deceptive strength in her thin arms, in the focused young face. A bit of blood spatters on her apron, on the dark red kerchief holding her braids back, and Daryl wonders if she ever pictures her former captors' faces, when she brings that cleaver down. He knows he does.

"Right, let's hurry and get mom somethin' to cook," Daryl speaks up, and everyone has an appreciative thing to say at that.

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It's the best supper they've all had in weeks, and Beth doesn't hide her pleasure at the reception from her household. There's venison with rosemary, fresh cornbread with greens from the greenhouse, and a dash of the moonshine Daryl had found in everyone's cider (everyone over the age of 6, anyway). Before the sun goes down everyone's got a full stomach, something that doesn't always happen. They're better fed than they were years ago, true, but they've still had to be careful, to ration, to make sure things last. Tonight, with fresh meat that can only keep for so long, nobody's trying to be overly careful.

"God, this thing was well fed!" Glenn exclaims, pushing back his first plate of seconds in months, and Beth is privately happy, sharing a glance with Daryl. Who just smirks, folding his hands behind his head and sitting back in his chair, just as pleased.

"Walkers try comin' north, game's comin' south, s'all I can figure," He shrugs, though the pleased smirk on his face is telling. Beth returns it around her glass of spiked cider, "Everyone's lookin' to get fed."

"I can't imagine that things are worse up north though," Maggie notes, Orion babbling happily on her lap, "The dead freeze sooner and the critters who know the land get fatter."

"Maybe more folk than we know have gone North," Beth suggests, turning a savory cut of herb-ed venison over on her tongue, "Maybe the game is tryin' to avoid 'em."

"Enough grim talkin'," Daryl grunts, even as he gives Beth a look, wiping his face and rising from the table as he does, addressing them all in his usual, gruff way, "We just stuffed ourselves, be fuckin' grateful," He kisses the top of her head then, in front of everyone, Judith grinning around her crumbly square of cornbread, before heading outside for first watch. Beth pretends not to make much of it, but knows that her little smile is telling.

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He stays on the veranda tonight, his coat and bow drawn close. There's no movement in the darkening yard at the moment, the noise of the animals in the barn muffled and distant. Daryl sighs, relaxing against the support beams and lighting a cigarette, blowing out a cloud of muddy smoke. The moon is full tonight and so the light is good, and after his first circle around the grounds he feels alright with just sitting for a while. Letting his limbs rest after their long day, letting his head calm down after his warm welcome home.

Inside the oil lamps get lit, one electric light turned on in the sitting room and casting a square of light onto the rough wooden porch nearby. They saved fuel and oil now even as it got cold, because winter would be much, much colder and darker. They'd relish the light then. For now, a flicker and one steady bulb for a couple of hours was enough.

Daryl tapped his cigarette once, twice. He knew that inside, with dinner cleared off and cleaned up, Beth and Maggie were cutting hair. Everyone had gotten a little shaggy of late, and from the muffled protests he knew Carl was currently under Beth's scissors, and it gets him grinning. The boy was the worst, even if Beth always did get his hair just how he liked.

Daryl had begged off, until tomorrow at least. He needed rest after the day he'd had, sure and he knew it, which was why he'd taken first watch. Meant he could sleep 'til noon tomorrow, if he'd the mind to. Not that Daryl could remember a time in recent memory that he'd slept so long, outside of that time he'd been down with the flu last May.

After a bit more muffled chattering, Judith's shrill tone punctuating the night, Daryl notes a pause in the conversation inside. Until, softly, a gentle singing starts up, growing with every note. He swallows, shaking his head, fixing his eyes off into the night. Trying to pretend it doesn't strike him as deep as it does. Beth's sweet voice, Maggie's a lively addition.

It's the Rolling Stones tonight. That one iPod they've kept alive doesn't sport the most recent of libraries, but Daryl doesn't mind one bit, shutting his eyes for a space, letting the singing lull him. Indulging in her.

Moonlight Mile was Beth's favorite. As such, it had grown on him a bit as well. He'd heard her hum it over dishes, over stitching wounds, over coaching her sister through labor pains. Daryl shuts his eyes. Don't the night pass slow...

The slightest of footfalls in the grass as the song dies, and his eyes snap open, his bow raised.

Dark shapes have moved over the yard, great, shaggy animals. Not the dead, nothing like the dead, Daryl smells the older, wilder scent as one large, pale grey wolf steps into the dim light of the moon over the barn. He swallows, hard, his aim shaking just slightly.

Daryl has been a hunter for most of his life, he knows and respects his fellow predators. Having grown up in the south, he'd seen gators, coyotes, bears and once, he still swears, a chupacabra. This is his first real Northern wolf though, standing tall and full and hulking between the house and the barn and instantly Daryl knows that he's seeing something beyond any animal he's yet come across. Something ancient and knowing and more deadly than he's ever been.

After his initial shock, however, it becomes clear that this killer is not on his scent, or even the scent of the meat in the barn. The old silver hound is calm, blinking at him, almost searchingly. Absurdly, Daryl swears that he recognizes that gaze, those knowing eyes calmly regarding him reminding him of nights long ago, when he'd first picked up a dead country doctor's bible, a man he'd respected perhaps more than any other.

By rights, he should shoot the animal. He's too close to the barn, and if Judith were to escape and go wandering tonight in the woods...but no. Daryl doesn't loose a bolt. Lowering his crossbow, he watches as the wolf yawns. A tawny female emerges from the shadows, they nuzzle once, and then they're both loping off into the shadows, into the trees.

A rough breath escapes his lungs, rubbing his forehead, shaking his head.

In the end, he figures they must know they're all just trying to survive. Maybe they'd even been what drove such a well-fed, fine game onto his path that afternoon.

Anyway, maybe the promise of wolves outside will scare Judith into staying in her damn bed, finally.

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It's the kind of night that fills her up, and not just with a good meal. Beth almost feels like her happiness could bubble over, her smiles and laughter free, her nerves loose. Everyone she loves is safe, well fed, and cheery this night. It's easier than ever to sing, echoing the Rolling Stones as she trims Carl's hair, and then Judith's and Tami's. She takes her turn under Maggie's shears, an inch of flossy blonde split ends falling easily away onto the floorboards.

Beth's hair is down to her elbows at this point, even after a haircut. Shaking the remaining strands out of her locks, she laughs and claims the first shower of the night, to no protests. She plucks up a candle in a holder and heads to the upstairs bathroom for her five minutes of hot water to rinse off the clinging trimmings.

Beth is more than used to camp showers by now, in fact she loves the hell out of them. Where in middle school, spending a month of her summer hopping around for five minutes in a tiny shower stall every other day was the absolute worst, as a 23 year old adult in the post-apocalypse, it is a pure pleasure. She turns on the hot water, luxuriates for one long minute, wetting her hair and body, and then shuts it off to soap up.

Only this time, Beth doesn't immediately start washing herself off. Bracing a hand against the tiled wall, pushing out a low breath as the warm water cools on her skin, she feels the distinct, familiar ache in her belly that's been near constant lately. The soreness in her arms and shoulders seems to fade for a time as her hands slide over her damp form, a groan passing her lips.

She shares a bed with a child who is essentially her daughter, and as such, this is her one place to have some privacy, to acknowledge that aching need between her legs, the only witness the fading steam. Beth's hands slide over her small breasts, her stomach, her hipbones, before dipping lower. With the moisture still clinging her fingers move on her clit, her eyes sliding shut. It's been so, so much worse of late, of course it has.

Between his eyes and his lips and the way he's gripped her hair, her hips, Daryl has her more frustrated than ever. It was bad enough simply being her age and untouched, with all the things any young woman wants. It's worse when there's someone _to_ want, someone so close, so raw, and still so far away. Beth groans again as her fingers move, her head falling back, relieving at least some of the tension in her whole being. Her nails move against the tiles as her other hand works between her thighs, stroking, aiming for the source of her ache.

She comes swiftly, as she's learned to do so since their situation became thus, gasping and sharply sending his name to the ceiling. A little smile haunts her face as her hips continue rocking against her hand for some moments. Beth is patient, she'll wait for him as long as it takes. But lord, was it far too easy to imagine how it would be. And how painful it was to want...

Beth turns the water back on, soaping up quickly and then rinsing it off all in under 30 seconds. She sighs, a smile on her lips as she towels off, scrunching her newly-trimmed hair. After deodorant, a tanktop, and ratty sweats, she yanks open the door only to stop short, gasping, swallowing and backing up as she's met with a pair of intense, focused blue eyes.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO! Having recently become gainfully employed, chapters will be getting shorter. Do not fear, though. This just ensures that I post new content on a regular basis! Which isn't too hard. It's funny how having specific times left for writing can get you, well, writing ;) Plus, this bit just WORKED beginning and ending where it does. I hope you agree!

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Beth can tell just by looking that he'd been waiting at least long enough to hear her. His arm is propped in the door frame, his breathing shallow, that half-eager, half-spooked look he gets sometimes that makes him look so, so much younger than he actually is fixed on his face. Slowly Beth pulls the door shut behind her, leaving only a space of inches between them.

"Daryl," She whispers, tilting her chin up just slightly and it's all the invitation he needs. Pressing forward, capturing her mouth with his, pushing her back up against the shut door easily and all of Beth's air is gone in a moment. Her hands are clawing at his back, his free hand is buried in her long wet hair, his frame pushing up against hers, warm and solid.

Her flesh is still humming and alive after her time alone, and as such his slightest touch is like sparks on her skin, igniting her all over again. Beth whimpers, gasping when one hand ventures along her bare arm, one hand slipping between her thighs. His name tumbles off of her lips all over again rough and uneven, as he touches her just so through threadbare sweats. Beth's hands slide up into his hair in turn, the incongruous grey at his temples sliding through her fingers as her frame writhes against his.

"C-can we..." She whispers, groaning when his mouth moves to her throat, sucking on the so very alive flesh there. Beth almost comes again, between his hand through her clothes and his mouth and how strung tight her nerves are and...

But then he stills, and she swallows the huff of frustration that almost escapes her mouth, breathing it into his over-long hair. Daryl's hands and lips stop moving, but he's still just as breathless, his eyes still wild, fixed on her as he tries and fails to steady his breath, bracing his arms on either side of her head. "...S'wolves outside," He swallows, and Beth blinks, her hands sliding up to frame his face, his jaw. Daryl shuts those striking eyes, biting his lip, "...I'm. It's..." He huffs, moving forward to kiss her again, nails scraping the wood of the door frame.

She kisses him back, but doesn't press, not yet.

"Soon, sweetheart," He promises, an inch from her mouth, his nose brushing hers, "Just...keep the kid inside?"

"Do my best," Beth promises right back, running a hand through his hair one more time. He presses his face to her neck for a long, steadying moment, before pushing open the bathroom door to take his turn with the hot water.

Beth takes a few moments in the hall, catching her breath, triumph and frustration and affection all battling each other in her blood, in her heart and head. Until she hears him groaning through the thin door, his voice blending with the sounds of running water. Then she's able to smirk, sighing, pushing off and heading downstairs. Somewhere near the bottom step, his words finally sink in.

Wolves, outside. Beth hurries to make sure Judith's in bed.

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She goes to bed when she's told and as it usually is most evenings, Judith falls asleep without any intention of waking up in the middle of the night to escape. Especially tonight, after some trembling words from Mama about wolves having been spotted under the trees. Something had flashed in Beth's eyes when she spoke the words, and Judith had promised her, had promised with all her little heart that she'd stay inside.

So why was she awake?

The moon was high and full outside of her window and Beth was fast asleep on the other side of the big warm bed. In the main room, the fire in the wood stove would be banked coals, the lingering warmth and shared beds keeping the lot of them warm 'til dawn. Everything about leaving her bed was uninviting, basically. And yet Judith could not refuse the impulse, the tug, slipping out from under the blankets carefully, silently, shivering as her bare little feet hit the floor.

She stares up at the little bell hung on the bedroom door in consternation. Beth had found it in the attic that evening, amongst old dusty Christmas decorations, gardening tools, and an ancient, sagging double bedstead. The bell is now nailed into the door frame, far too high up for Judith to reach (barring some truly Loony Toons-esque, physics-defying furniture stacking), and it'll certainly wake Daryl, with his sharp ears, if not Beth.

Judith muses on this obstacle for a moment, the pull of sleep now faint against her sudden, aching need for freedom, a new itch just under her skin. Coming to a decision, she turns from the door and piles on her layers of sweaters and coat, a new plan forming in her mind. She pulls on her boots, feeling only a dim, momentary regret that she's disobeying her Mama. But...she needed to be outside. How did no one, not even herself under the daylight, understand that?

Wolves wouldn't hurt her. And she was faster than the dead.

The old window frame gives her some trouble at first, but with a mighty heave she pushes up the pane, Beth hardly stirring on the bed. The screens have long been out for the winter, and with only a little scrambling Judith is up and out, landing in the winter flower beds with a light thump.

She's up and running across the grass swiftly, her breath a little cloud over her head. She doesn't know where she's running to, with the moon keeping pace, Judith never does. There's never any Dead to worry about, she knows that. Far across the fields she does see some shambling forms, but they're too far away to worry her. What she wants, what she needs, in her blood, is in the trees. She just knows, even if she doesn't understand.

There aren't any voles or squirrels underfoot this night. Judith is caught by another creature's path, a track of fresh blood just inside the tree line. Sniffing, shaking out her rough, newly-trimmed dark hair, she follows the smears of dark red blood under the full moon. Scuffing in the underbrush with her hands, smelling the bark of trees and new-fallen leaves, soon the little girl is quite a mess, with bloody hands and dirty paws, yet still she follows the trail of fresh-spilt blood.

She half-stumbles into the clearing, deep into the woods by now, and her breath catches in her small throat. In the middle of the grassy ring, a great kill rests, bloody and fleshy and real. Another stag, she could tell, between the lady wolves who tore at its limbs with fierce jaws and the wide-branching antlers that poked up toward the stars. Remembering all the warnings before bed, suddenly Judith freezes, gasping, pressing her little form back up against the nearest tree. She is the little human girl again and yet the lady wolves don't pay her any mind.

Slowly, a dark, removed form lopes toward her. Black of fur and sloe of eye, the male wolf eyes her for a time as she stands against her tree. Judith gulps, reaching out as he comes closer to touch his soft furry head with a trembling hand.

'Mine,' The word fills her head, and suddenly, for the first time, staring that wild, evil, feral-looking animal in the face, Judith Grimes understands.

'I am not all Grimes,' She thinks, following him towards the kill after a long beat, careful, booted feet pushing her forward, toward the carcass. With bravery she pushes her hands against the bones, the dead flesh, dark red blood staining her skin, her clothes. 'There is Walsh too...'

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When he wakes up, it's with a jolt, Beth's panicking call filling up his ears. Clothes are yanked on swiftly, hands scrambling for his crossbow. His feet pound over the grass and into the trees, a terror taking his heart as it hasn't in years now. Daryl has grown so used to the violence, so used to losing folk. His lil' asskicker, though, still missing come morning after a night filled with wolves...?

Goddamnit, why hadn't he picked them off when he'd the chance?!

He nearly loses himself when he finds her, all covered in blood, a little feminine heap on the ground. Two more seconds of staring through the chilly hazy dawn, though, and Daryl sees that Judith is still breathing. Sleeping on the frosty ground like a little dreaming doll, blood coating her hands and chin, jaws, the ends of her hair, she's still alive.

Daryl freezes. If he'd found her dead, he'd have broken. Alive and wandering, he'd be all fear-fueled scolding and cussing and promising punishments.

This is different, though. He doesn't know how to take in this little girl, waking up on the chilled ground with a shiver, covered in blood, whimpering and reaching for him like a toddler. Daryl swallows, shouldering his bow and bending to pluck her up in his arms, blood and all. Fear and love and relief and more and more fear all curl up inside of him as he holds her close, half-scolding her for scaring her mama, half-comforting her for how cold and scared and messy she is.

"Th' hell are you, baby?" He asks of the wintery morning, clutching her closer, wrapping a blanket around her shivering little form.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Rest assured, events after this will be very thick, plotty, and full of things you've been waiting for.

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"This is how I show my love..."  
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October passes almost without incident. There's one pregnancy scare from Karen, and the bloody kills that the wolves fill the forest with draw in a herd of Walkers toward the end of the month. The Dead are getting slower and slower, though, and they don't lose anyone as they cull the remnants, hacking half-frozen, undead flesh to pieces. The wolves eventually move on, seemingly, and the Undead are crippled, at least for a season. 

As a rainy November takes the stage the survivors begin to fortify themselves in earnest against the two remaining threats, which will become much, much worse come winter: Hunger and other survivors. They've learned this well by now, that for all the solace the cold would give them from the dead, it would also starve out other living humans. Ones that had, more often than not as the years passed, gone brutal. Folk like them, pragmatic and prepared? They stayed in their dens when the cold came. The locusts, however, would be roaming, ravenous. 

They stay optimistic. They'd been fine for most of last winter, Daryl maintains, they'd be even better for this one. 

Upstairs windows get boarded up against the cold, rugs and old clothes rolled up to stop up drafts under doors. The basement, the pantries and the greenhouse are well-stocked for how rushed they were at the end of the summer, and smoked, salted meat is hanging in the attic. That has been Carl's latest project, looting the nearest library for old books on how best to preserve the meat that their meager livestock and Daryl's hunting brings in. 

“I feel like Laura Ingalls,” Maggie jokes, helping him fill their new smoking shack on the property with salted cuts, “Little House in The Big Woods, I swear half that damn book was about how they got ready for the winter.”

“And look how much help it's been!” Beth notes cheerily, dropping an armful of green birch twigs outside of the shack, the two of them tossing them in to smolder and smoke up the meat hanging inside. 

“S'actually one of the ones I've been reading for tips,” Carl admits a little sheepishly, but Maggie just waves a hand. Across the grass Judith is chasing a crawling Orion, laughing bundles of winter coats, the both of them.

“I might just swipe it from ya, I aint read those books in years...”

“You used to read me to sleep on 'em,” Beth reminds her, and then she's thoughtful, tilting her head. “...Actually yeah, Carl, you mind if I borrow it first?”

“Not really,” He shrugs, flipping his hair out of his face as he shuts the little door on the smoking shack, only the smallest, fragrant tendrils of smoke escaping up through the roof. “Why?”

“Well they were good bedtime stories for us...maybe they'll calm down Judith,” Beth shares a glance with Maggie, who gives her a grim smirk. 

“Maybe.”

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For all that the little girl was playful presently in the chilly late-autumn, ever since her last late-night outing Judith had been a little spooked. They didn't need to worry about her wandering because she was too skittish to even approach the forest in the daylight. And sleep was very elusive where the young girl was concerned. She'd spent more than a few nights curled up on the floor in front of the wood-stove near Daryl's couch, too skittish to be any further away from their protector.

Beth hopes the books will be a diversion, even if she's still hard pressed to tempt Judith back toward her own bedroom that night. Instead, with a fleeting look shared with Daryl, Beth spreads their quilt out on the floor between the woodstove and his couch, her little girl curling up in the folds immediately. Beth, a second quilt in her arms, tucks her in and starts reading the simple, cozy novel from her childhood. Judith is as much enraptured as she is sleepy, interrupting Beth with questions right up until she drifts off, mumbling about maple sugar candy and ropes of onions. Beth chuckles, wrapping the little girl up closely on the floor.

“Gonna kill yer back down there,” Daryl notes, oiling his bowstrings behind her. Beth turns, arching a brow, smirking his way.

“If I promise not t'try anything, can I sleep up there with you?” She asks, and while Daryl's words are all caught up in his throat Beth disentangles herself from the sleeping five year old, and effortlessly slips under his blankets.

“...How d'you do that?” He finally asks in a murmur, tucking away his work, and Beth only smirks, wrapping her arms around him from behind on the narrow couch. 

“M'sneaky,” She yawns, tugging his form back against hers, shutting her eyes, feeling the lean pull of muscle under his t-shirt, “...And knowing you won't bolt, not with our little shadow three feet off.” Daryl snorts, chuckles, covering her arm on his waist with his own, linking their fingers. The stiffness in his frame slowly relaxes. He's getting better at this...tactile thing. 

“...She is kinda ours, aint she?” He muses, far from the deeper, scarier implications of their relationship. Well, scary for him, anyway. Beth smiles, shrugging, nuzzling the scruffy hair at the back of his neck, and he can't help the shiver under her touch, his grip on her arm tightening.

“She only barely remembers Rick, so yeah,” She murmurs, eying the sleeping little form on the floor, tiny shoulders trembling against nightmares Beth couldn't possibly understand or know. Beth swallows, her focus shifting from the man she very much loves for a moment, despite his being right under her hands, “...And she's scared.”

“Y'ask her, again?” His head turns, and Beth nods.

“Over'n over.” She sighs, “She aint said nothin' about flesh and blood men, or anythin'...just wolves. She's scared of wolves.” And oh, how Beth and Maggie had both pried for the truth with carefully worded questions, trying to hide their fears that the girl had stumbled upon more sinister, human dangers in the woods. But all Judith would speak of were wolves, and of how one had wanted her. Had called her his own.

Neither Beth nor Daryl could imagine that referring to anything other than some sicko survivor in their woods, but Judith insisted that it had been an actual, flesh and fur wolf. Beth was still convinced that it was some kind of emotional transference, or hopefully, the little girl just sleep walking and dreaming. Daryl, however, was surprising her by not being entirely swayed. And now, rolling to face her, his lips against her hairline, he finally admits why.

“When I first saw them wolves, when they looked at me, 'cross the yard,” He swallows, voice gone rough, nosing her long blonde hair away from her ear, “...Coulda sworn it was yer Pa lookin' back at me, through those eyes.”

“...Y'know how crazy that sounds, yeah?” Beth asks, and he huffs a laugh against her hair, nodding into the pillows.

“Course I do,” he murmurs, arms tightening around her and Beth shuts her eyes, sighing, drowning in the warmth for a long moment, “...Don't mean it wasn't real.”

“...Guess I can't really argue there,” Beth allows, tugging up the quilt that's covering the two of them. They're mostly chaste, yes, but the kisses Daryl leaves on her lips and throat still burn like brands long after they've both drifted off, following her into her dreams in the circle of his arms. 

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He takes her hunting in the morning because she's been impossibly insistent, but also because he can sympathize. Beth has been home-bound by choice for months now, and even though she's been doing important work keeping the homestead running, she aint immune to the cabin fever. She's a pretty good shot, too, and Daryl isn't about to pass over help when it comes to supplying their people with meat. Their livestock is still too young, the herd too small to pick off on the regular. Being alone in the woods together sure is a nice notion, too...

...It had been a real nice night, having her close, even if it had been mostly innocent due to Judith's proximity and...other factors. Those factors being his messed up head. Even so, Daryl's not that eager to move away out of her orbit just yet. 

“Hold your arm steady,” He murmurs as they crouch up in the tree stand, Beth with another large stag in her sights. Just in her ear he's offering up advice, and Beth is trying her best to breathe through it. Daryl grins, murmuring again, “Food only comes by so often sweetheart, y'can get up close'n personal with me whenever.”

“That a promise?” She breathes back, catching him off-guard just before she lets off a shot. It goes wide, just over the buck's shoulder. A huff of consternation leaves her lips, watching the hind legs of the animal disappear into the trees. Daryl collects himself in time to chuckle at her miss. She gives him an elbow to the ribs, satisfied by the following grunt. “Your fault.”

“Your sass, little girl,” He grumbles in reply, settling back against the tree trunk, his crossbow across his lap. Beth smirks, sitting opposite yet mirroring his position, rifle resting on her knees, and Daryl's pleased to see her eyes returning to the trees, alert. He teased, but Beth had gotten much better in the woods back when they'd been on the move. Girl's just gotten a little rusty since they found a real home, is all.

A light snow has started to fall on a chilly wind, and Daryl ducks his head to bury his chin in the rough-knit scarf Maggie had made him the winter before. There'd been a time when the winters up North had seemed to steal both his breath and soul away in one gust, but Daryl has since adjusted. In fact he kinda loves the very specific silence that happens when it snows up here, broken only by bare branches knocking into each other above, an occasional bird call. Apparently Beth is having the same thought.

“Almost like just breathin' could scare off animals,” She whispers past paling lips, rubbing her hands together in their fingerless mitts. Daryl's smile falters as he sees those lips, rummaging in his pack for a moment before handing her their thermos of coffee. She's too thin, he thinks, even under her two pairs of jeans, legwarmers, boots, her thick coat underneath his old poncho, which she still swims in. Beth is lean and strong but there's not much to hold warmth against her bones. Over the steam in her hands, she catches him watching her and her eyes go curious, warm. Daryl looks away.

“Maybe stalkin' rabbits is a better idea,” He decides aloud, nodding to the woods, “Keep us walkin', movin', warm...”

“You cold?” Beth arches a brow, even as her voice wavers with a shiver, chattering teeth. Daryl gives her a look. She rolls her eyes, “Daryl, I'm...”

“Tough as nails an' a badass, damned if I don't know it,” Daryl finishes, before she can get riled, “And still 'bout a hundred pounds maybe, n'that's soakin' wet.”

“...Point,” She grumbles, letting him pull her up. He tugs her into his arms tight for a long minute, mostly because he can't help it. Affection and worry riled that beast in his head, the one convinced that, with every inch closer together they got, the closer Beth was to getting snatched away from him like all the rest. Thus, without anyone around to comment, maybe Daryl does cling just a little, feeling her warm up through all her layers, her head tucked under his chin, their firearms bumping into each other. A muffled chuckle against his scarf, her warm breath making its way through the wool and into his skin.

“Stay close,” Is all he says further, in a low murmur against her forehead before leading them down, back into the woods.

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Half the snares have caught squirrels, and one fox even, which Daryl let's go free. “Fox meat aint that good anyway, and the pelt'll stand out too much.” Is his flimsy excuse. Beth smiles to herself, clipping another squirrel to her pack. He loved foxes and thought she wouldn't remember the time he'd admitted as much to her, back while they walked the prison walls down south. She'll remind him later.

It turns out that she's much better at shooting a varmint close-range, killing two of the four rabbits they bag that day. It wasn't even noon yet and they were almost done circling around through the woods and back toward the homestead. They'd have the rest of the day to clean their food in the nice, warm house as the snow started falling heavier outside, the bitter cold left behind glass. 

Just as she thinks this, however, a familiar, far-off howl cuts through the silent trees, the both of them turning sharply, eyes on the deep woods behind them. A reply follows, just a little closer. Another, further on. Beth swallows hard, “Thought they'd left us be,” She breathes. Daryl shakes his head, a hand taking her shoulder.

“Huntin's still good here sweetheart, better'n other places I expect,” He murmurs, tugging her along, “Come'on, we'll check the last snare 'en get the hell on home.” Beth likes this plan, even as her stomach flops over, hating herself for how badly she hopes Judith is still too afraid to run off on them tonight.

They reach their last snare quickly, only to find the lonely rope cut, frayed, and wafting on the chilly wind. Daryl frees his crossbow from his shoulder and is immediately on the thief's clumsy trail, and Beth hesitates only a moment before following close behind, gripping her rifle. Had the wolves gotten ahead of them? But no, a wolf would've left more of a mess, there'd be blood on the trail to follow. And even she knew wolf prints from the prints they were following.

No, when they come upon the thief in a clearing, alarmingly close to their home, they do not find a wolf. It's a man, two breathing, human men, emaciated and harried, the one looking up at them with wide eyes behind cracked glasses, butcher knife in one hand, their rabbit in the other. “Please,” He licks his lips, eyes flickering between Daryl's bow and Beth's rifle. “We didn't want to steal, but...” 

The other man is backing towards the trees, reaching behind him for something, and Daryl raises his arm. “Aint the stealin' I'm worried about, friend, it's that yer reeeeal close to my home and my people...”

“Daryl,” Beth catches his arm swiftly, her eyes having adjusted to the dark under the trees faster, and hears him swear at her side. The other man hadn't been reaching for his gun. He'd been reaching to comfort the two kids huddled in blankets under the shade. 

 

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	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've all been so patient and lovely. And it's worth noting, while I began this story pre-season 4 and the plot will remain as such, I will happily take bits and pieces I love from the new episodes.

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_Misguided angel hangin' over me  
Heart like a Gabriel, pure and white as ivory  
Soul like a Lucifer, black and cold like a piece of lead  
Misguided angel, love you 'til I'm dead..._

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They're girls, both of the kids. The older one looks to be around thirteen, the younger maybe eight, and while Daryl is scowling down his bolts at the two men protecting them Beth sees the family resemblance. “Daryl, they're theirs,” She murmurs, taking in the older's light brown skin, the younger's wide-spaced blue eyes. The two men before them look Hispanic and white, respectively, and Daryl slowly lowers his bow.

“...Sorry,” He speaks, though not entirely off his guard, clearly, even as he takes in how much they both impossibly resemble their fathers, “Met too many sick fuckers draggin' along young kids in this world.” 

“So have we,” The white guy with the glasses replies roughly, standing slowly, setting both the rabbit and the knife in his hands down carefully on the snowy ground. “I'm Simon,” He motions to the man behind him, “My husband Marco, our daughters Marcia and Daisy.” Simon has a look Beth knows well, between his glasses, slim yet strong frame, stained clothes. He's someone who probably hadn't hurt a fly back in the old world, who'd had to toughen up. She can tell Daryl is seeing it too, sizing the two men up. 

“Y'know how it is then,” He goes on, finally shouldering the crossbow. “Got our own kids to think about. Can't be too careful.”

“Neither can we,” Marco notes, pointedly, though the hungry eyes on all four of them are telling. Beth feels her heart lurch as the girls slowly move forward. They're skin and bones, both of them. “...We don't wanna be a burden, but...a meal or two would go a ways...”

Beth gives Daryl a look. She's wary too, of course she is, but they've also met liars a'plenty in this world by now. They've learned to see the things hiding in hardened faces, the tells, the vague answers to simple questions. These folks don't seem like liars at all, and she can tell that Daryl sees it as well. He's still on his guard though, he can't ever not be. “...I'm inclined to provide,” He allows, tilting his head, and she hears the familiar, care-worn words spoken, “How many walkers y'killed?” Simon coughs on a chuckle, but it's hollow, cracked.

“Countless, by now...” It's not an uncommon answer, this far into the end of the world. Beth wonders why they still ask, even. Daryl just nods.

“Livin' humans?”

Here the two men share a glance, but there's little to no guile when Simon answers, “I've killed eight. Marco's killed... fifteen?” Marco nods.

“Why?” Beth hears herself asking the last question. Likely because she already knows the answer, the two fathers looking back toward their kids.

“We got two daughters,” Marco murmurs, “Plenty of folk out there who just saw us as an obstacle.” 

“An immovable one,” Simon adds, standing a little taller, for all his ragged bones. Daryl even smirks a little, as he steps aside on the path.

“Beth, lead 'em on home,” He says, eying the trees again, “I'll be behind ya...aint leavin' anybody to the wolves I don't got to.”

Beth smiles, the girls faint and wispy things trailing behind her as they go. Glenn, Maggie and Tyreese would have their say as well once they got to the house, Daryl makes that point clear and Simon says that's more than fair. And a quick pat down of the men finds them armed only with a couple of long knives, the only food in their packs a few expired cans and some wild onions, as well as the rabbit. And the grateful look on all their faces is as honest as anything. Even so, Beth notices the same things Daryl does as they start walking, the two of them sharing a look. This family, with at least one very young child, was out in the woods, in the winter, with foraged food and worn-out shoes. 

They might be harmless, but they'd definitely been on the run from something, be it animals or other people, and it had led them to their door.

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They're side by side at the kitchen counter that snowy afternoon, Tami cleaning the rabbits, Carl cutting the meat up, Beth dicing it smaller, with the wild onions and their own garlic and carrots, emptying her board into the slow-cooker on the wood stove, the smell of curried sauce filling the warm kitchen. At the rough kitchen table their guests were tearing into yesterday's bread with goat's cheese and coffee, answering questions between famished mouthfuls. 

“We stayed in Philly when it all went down,” Marco is saying, more talkative with a full belly, little Daisy on his knee wrapped up in one of Judith's blankets, “And honestly, that kept us alive the first six months. Stayed in our basement, only went out when we had to...”

“What drew you out?” Glenn asks with a piercing look, and the two men share a glance for the briefest of moments, before Simon replies.

“Food ran out, at first, so we left the city,” He says, “We...there was an Amish community. They didn't suffer much, the Amish, aside from fighting off the Dead.” He snorts, “Even they gave up the vow of non-violence, when it came to demons from hell...we lived with 'em for a couple of years. But...” Here he struggles, his voice breaking, and even Carl looks up from his task, frowning. Marco takes his husband's hand, holding it tight.

“Survivors came through, and not your sort, not the kind sort,” He continues, his voice stony, “Took over most of the farms, killin', rapin', capturin'...” He growls, “We got out. Fewer qualms about shooting back at living humans...”

“We got my friend Sarah to come with us,” Marcia speaks for the first time, looking up from her tea. “She was real sweet, Sarah...”

“Not immunized, though.” Simon sighs, his free hand taking his daughter's, “Lost her in Jersey to tetanus, of all things.”

“S'a worry we all got these days,” Beth notes from her chopping board, nodding to Judith on the floor. The little girl has been staring wide eyed at the other girls ever since they came back with them, as if she couldn't comprehend their existence. Little girls, like her. Now she rises, offering Marcia her pet kitten. 

“You folks are doing well though,” Simon glances around at the room, at the dried herbs hanging from the rafters, at the wood stove, the cooking food. Beth can't help but smile, though it's with a pang. Once again, it's as if Daryl's inside her head.

“Had our share of losses too,” He says quietly, also looking to Judith. “Used to be a lot more of us. Her folks are gone, 'long with a lot of others. We've learned to be real careful,” At that he sends both men a pointed look, “Now, y'strike me as decent enough. But what've you been runnin' from?” To the point. Both men shift in their chairs, and the girls look down, Marcia gratefully hugging Judith's barn kitty, “...Even starvin', a man'd find a safe place for his family to hole up in, while he hunted.” 

“Don't miss much, do you?” Marco reaches up, rubbing his eyes, “...We got cornered a week ago, somewhere in New Hampshire, at a house we'd planned to winter in all summer. Big group...fact I think some of 'em were the same ones who'd routed out Amish country, don't forget faces like that.” Everyone at the table leans forward, and Daryl's face has gone stony, but Marco shakes his head, “We lost 'em 'round the Connecticut river, I know we did, just...been tryin' to put as much distance as possible 'tween us and them.”

“Why would some group follow you so far?” Maggie asks. Marco looks down, and it's Simon who answers.

“Their leader offered us supplies, a place in their group, even, if we wanted it. In exchange for everything we had of value to them in that house...including Marcia.” He replies evenly, and Tyreese swears. At the counter, Tami's hands still on one of the rabbits, staring at the blood on her hands. She doesn't move until Beth rests a hand on her shoulder. “...Of course we refused. They came for us in the night, I....I killed their leader's brother.” The slender man, looking so like some ragged librarian, takes off his glasses to rub his eyes. “I had to...I had to...”

“Yeah y'did,” Daryl agrees firmly, though Beth can see that he does not miss the wary glances sent his way from the rest of their own people. He glances to each person in turn, and to Beth and Carl, but while they're all unsettled, nobody has any objections to voice. Not now, anyway. By now Daryl knows this means they trust his judgment. Beth spots the flicker, the twitch that almost always shows on his face when this happens. Seven years total all together, and he still can't believe they trust him to do anything right. Despite the gravity of the situation, she gives him a little smile. He draws in a steadying breath.

“Y'got a warm place t'stay for now, anyway,” He tells the little family, who all seem to slump in relief in unison, even little Daisy, “Got the food and shelter t'share. But...” Daryl pauses, turning the words over in his head before he says them, “I got mine to think on. It turns out, we see any sign in the area that you aint shaken them poachers...”

“All I'll ask for is some food, some days' rest, and we'll be gone,” Simon promises, and Marco nods, “Honestly...even now, with all you've done here...” He bites his lip, “It's vicious in the South, and people like them are coming North. I feel like we should keep going up and up, once we're strong again.”

“Yeah, man,” Marco sighs, glancing to Maggie, who was holding Orion now, shaking his head, “You folks may not be safe here for very long, period, whether we've shaken our hunters or not.”

“We'll figure that out when it's time,” Daryl maintains, moving back from the table, breaking the impromptu meeting and swiping a piece of carrot from Beth's board, “S'our home now.”

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She can tell he enjoys her slack jaw, when Daryl reveals that his couch in the front room folds out. “Hell, I aint needed that much room, yet.” He smirks, shrugging, offering the fold-out bed to their guests with a wave of his hand. With their girls both happily piled up in Judith's room, Marco and Simon all but pass out immediately, murmuring their genuine gratitude over and over. No can deny at this point that the men are as they seem, but everyone else in the house remains on edge after the news they'd brought with them.

“Strangers aint ever been anything but trouble,” Maggie is saying, helping Daryl haul the mattress in the attic off its broken, sagging bed frame to rest far more comfortably on the floor between the chimneys. “If they aint trouble, they bring it with 'em.”

“Now, that's a lie,” He maintains, tucking a sheet onto the mattress, before dumping his blankets in a cozy heap on top. Across the slightly warped hardwood floor Beth is moving the hanging meat, gourds and other dried food stuffs away from what will now be his “area”. It'll still smells smoky and meaty, though, which seems oddly fitting. She smirks as he goes on to her sister, “Was a time when you two were strangers t'me. More recent time when Tamika was, when Karen and Tyreese were...”

“And we came with trouble,” Maggie reminds him flatly, though it's with a conceding smile now, arranging his bedding in a somewhat better manner. “Us Greene girls came with a barn fulla Walkers. Tyreese and Karen escaped The Governor. Tamika...well, okay, we killed off the threat she came with 'fore we even found her...”

“Everythin' that's ever changed things for our group, has been trouble,” Daryl maintains, voice gone a little rough, tugging his blankets smooth, “Fire 'at took out the house, anyone we've lost...but we're here now, aint we? In the best set up we've prolly ever had? We keep tighter watches, we rove out, smallest sign of that group, we handle it.” He shrugs, “Sides, we're 'bout a hundred miles west of where they grappled with 'em. We'll be all right.”

“All this optimism,” Maggie smirks, tossing down the last quilt and then moving to go, “Been 'round my sister a little too long.”

“No such thing,” Beth calls after her retreating form, wiping dust from her hands. Alone now, she and Daryl share a glance as he plucks up his thicker coat, his crossbow. Eyes linger, his chin tilting toward the rickety stairs.

“Got first watch,” He clears his throat, and Beth nods, glancing away, tucking back her hair.

“Got my bed taken over by little girls tonight, so...” She smirks, and Daryl fights with one of his own.

“Well...make sure they all stay put,” He grouses, before going, winking, “See you 'round midnight.”

And that was how that happened. The attic was hers too.

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Mind, there are a lot of smaller, more complicated little pieces that make up this night, or at least Daryl tells himself as much, staring the freezing, still-snowy darkness in the face. Not a soul stirs along the treeline, wolf, undead, or living human, and he finds himself pacing over the wide porch to keep himself warm and occupied. There's nothing out here tonight and he knows it all through his watch, knowing that far more was waiting for him inside, upstairs, past this new, frightening variable that the events of the day had almost distracted him from.

There have been plenty of variables of course, over the years. He'd long ago learned to adjust to them, from the day he'd come home from a hunt to find out that his big brother had been left for dead in Atlanta, to Judith's birth, to the day that he'd buried Sasha in the morning and carried Tamika back to their home in the afternoon. Variables were inevitable. The way they came into their lives were avoidable though, and he'd let in potential doom that day. 

The men seem good, though, protective of their own in a way that Daryl can relate to. They only planned to stay for a matter of days or more, so they said. They need feeding and toughening up to survive after their weeks of struggling, of running. All this Daryl is fine with, as leader, as the final word where his people are concerned. Thing is, he hasn't made such an executive decision in a while now and it still makes him itchy somewhere beyond his better nerves. 

They trust him, Glenn, Beth, Tyreese and the rest. When they wavered, they trusted his final word. That's a mighty frightening notion all on it's own. But Daryl sticks by this choice. There are kids involved, he won't leave 'em to starve, to freeze...Carol wouldn't have. Rick wouldn't have either. For all the latter'd done wrong, his heart for the most vulnerable of humanity hadn't often steered him wrong.

And they have guns, they have blades, they have years of not running, but rather facing danger head-on to draw from. Their group may be small these days compared to what they were four years ago, but it certainly aint a group of cowards. Even Judith knows how to kill, and how to recognize the moment to do so when it comes. 

They'll be fine.

Which leaves other things to be anxious over, but tonight, Daryl finds even those things slipping away and off of his nerves more easily. He shakes his head, looking down at his strung bow and letting out a slow breath into the frozen night. There are some truly terrible things to be afraid of this night, and none of them are Beth. 

Rather, they're the things that could very much snatch Beth away from him, his connection to her or not. There's the harsh reality of other humans, brought home in stunning clarity today. There's the dead and there are the wolves. There's also the fact that one day, perhaps, they'd take in a survivor more her age and persuasion, which seemed all the more possible with new people sleeping under their roof. That one's flimsy though, even in his terribly self-deprecating head. The notion that he was simply the only option made even Daryl chuckle to himself. He might be terrible at expressing himself on the best of days, but he and Beth are more to each other than that. 

They make up their group's spine, together.

Daryl still has his demons, he muses, letting his crossbow go slack as his watch ends. Carl takes up the next shift, the two of them clapping shoulders in the cold. 

Those demons are a lot less hands on than zombies, humans, or wolves.

Yet tonight they all seem far away, for as much as he tries to draw them close, to get them to say something in his ear he hasn't come up with yet, something to squelch his optimism. As it is, all those voices are doing is steeling his resolve as he moves through the floors of their home. 

So he might lose her at any moment. All the more reason to have their bliss now, if bliss it could be.

She's settled into the attic. The three girls are all snug and sleepy in Judith's room, the kids able to have little friends and girly secrets again, leaving Beth to find a place of her own, and she's found it under his quilts, to his approval. It's been hours that he's been on watch, though, and so his gal is already dozing when he slips back into the room. Daryl smirks, shrugging off his coat and boots. He kneels before the old, spotted mirror left long ago against a wall just by his mattress, noticing that the single candle left lit is flickering there, and that she's tucked his little collection of photos and knick-knacks into the rough wooden frame.

Most of them are Polaroids from the camera Glenn had swiped back in the day, and Daryl doesn't like sleeping without them nearby. In the front room downstairs they'd been in a neat pile by his couch. There's stills of all of them, of Carol laughing up at him between Lizzie and Mika, of Rick and Michonne with their arms around each other. Of Beth, Carl and Judith making faces, of Glenn licking Daryl's crossbow on a dare. There's Merle's driver's license, a photo of Andrea's grave, one of Sasha's dogtags (Tyreese has the other of course, she and Daryl had just become a real good team over the years). Judith's first hand print. All semi-private proof that Daryl Dixon has a heart, he supposes.

He actually smiles, touching one of the last pictures Glenn had taken before he hadn't been able to find anymore film -anywhere-. It's Beth wearing her old blue sundress and Daryl's leather vest, standing in a grassy field somewhere they'd camped in Virginia. This one had been on a dare as well, while he'd been off hunting. He'd cussed them both out at the time, but...hell, it's his favorite, always has been, the way she's grinning over her shoulder, her hair down, those damn wings looking far more fitting on her back. 

She turns over on the bed, murmuring something or other, and Daryl swallows hard, rising, letting the candle keep right on burning, reflected around the room by the big mirror. He leaves his boots and clothes nearby, as he always does, easy to yank back on at a moments notice. It's damn chilly up here though, even so close to the warm iron chimneys and while he doesn't want to spook her he's pretty anxious to get under his quilts, his one fur-lined blanket. Beth's skin is a little cold when he slides in beside her, though the fact that she's only wearing one of his t-shirts might be more to blame than the drafty attic.

“Yer a damn idiot,” He murmurs into her hair, tugging her into his arms under the covers as she stirs awake. Beth makes a half-hearted protest, burrowing into his embrace, “Sleepin' next to a frozen corpse, wanna scar me for life?”

“M'warmer already,” She mumbles back, as he tugs the blankets closer around them, and he really is as well. He can feel her pulse beating just under her skin, where her wrists are against his back, her chest pressed to his. “...We all right out there?”

“...Just fine,” The words take a moment to get past his throat, his brow furrowing. Beth's stirring further awake, her lips moving over his skin, and Daryl finds himself with a mantra running in his head, repeating over and over that this was all right. They could have this, she was warm and alive and...her kisses move over his collarbones, and suddenly he doesn't need the mantra so much.

He turns, pressing her back against the old worn sheets and covering her little laugh of surprise with his mouth. For all that he'd pent up, kept inside for the past few weeks out of fear, out of self-preservation, it comes out in a torrent as he kisses her now, and finds that he can't stop. He hopes to god she doesn't want him to. Beth is only stunned for a moment, though, before her hands are sliding back up along his sides, gasping for air when he finally rests his forehead against hers.

“...No runnin'?” She breathes through a tiny, wavering smile, and Daryl can tell that she's doing what she always does, tip-toeing, using humor so as not to spook him, even as they're getting tangled up in a damn halfway-proper bed, her hands sliding up into his hair. Her fleeting, hopeful little smirk just makes him chuckle this time, kissing her again. 

“No runnin', darlin',” He promises around her lips, feeling her tensed nerves unwind in his arms. So he's terrible with words, it's fine. They don't need any more as she feels free to come alive under his touch. Beth's hands go back to tracing his chest, ribs and arms as they kiss, pressing sinew and bone and muscle made lean under her fingers. Daryl's never thought much of his scrawny frame, especially not since the world ended, but Beth's soft little sounds of approval in his mouth as she grips his arms are terribly encouraging. 

He realizes she's far too covered up, by comparison. Catching her with his squint, the both of them breathing heavily now, Daryl only has to glance for permission, rough fingers ghosting around the hem of his stolen t-shirt. She might be the one doin' most of the chasing, the waiting, but she was still the virgin, here. Beth bites her lip around a grin, though, and that's all the yes he needs, tugging it up and over her head, her long, wavy hair getting caught and making her giggle. The sound damn near kills him, and he's reaching to bury his hands in that thick, blonde hair, kissing her over and over, groaning as skin meets skin.

She's gone from freezing to fire in a matter of moments, so smooth and warm and soft under his hands, even where there's strong lean muscle, too much bone, ribs and hips so sharp they make his heart ache. She's beautiful, though, and he fumbles over telling her as much, the words lost in her long hair. Her breath hitches with a whimper as his lips move to her neck and lower, and Daryl tries to make himself slow down, for her. For him too, though. Thinner than she'd be in the old world or not, she's perfect to him, and damned if he isn't going to enjoy it, savor it.

He kisses his way over her small breasts, grinning up at her over the dip just before her navel, flicking the little barbel there with his tongue. Beth grins, flushed and embarrassed and so obviously aroused, “Two years back,” She breathes, as his fingers brush the sparkly bit of pink titanium now, “Maggie an' me were on a run, was quiet...sister bondin' at an old tattoo shop...” 

“S'cute,” He rumbles, kissing just under the bit of jewelry now, and then moving lower. Yes it's been a while for him, and no, Daryl's never been what anyone would call 'good with women'. Yet when it came to the physical he was oddly better at communicating, once someone got through. So, where he might not have the words to tell Beth all the things he wants to, not yet anyway, he can definitely manage it here. And he does.

“Mmph,” Is the very pronounced sound that leaves her mouth, through the teeth digging into her bottom lip as his tongue moves over her clit, a finger carefully pressing into her, and then two. Maybe he 'aint no Casanova, no, but glancing up at her over the expanse of her stomach, her chest, seeing her lips parted in a gasp as he touches her, all he wants in the world is to make this good. When his imperfect rhythm has her shuddering under his mouth, around his fingers, he pulls away to kiss her messily as she comes, swallowing her cries with his growling, possessive mouth. 

“Daryl,” She whispers, and then repeats his name over and over, hands clawing at the scars and tattoos on his back, old demons turning ruddy under her nails. He catches her gaze again though, locking eyes before turning them over, her noise of surprise making him grin again.

“Your lead, darlin',” He breathes. Oh, they can have the feral, wild stuff any time, after this, against every surface in the damn house. First time, it's her party, and he sees how much she appreciates it all over her shy, yet devious little grin. She looks both her age, and like that timid teenager he'd met long ago all at once, and Daryl is floored by it. Literally. Beth wraps her short legs around his waist, settling onto his cock slowly, her head falling back, pinning him to the mattress with her shuddering frame.

It's not a steady pace as she slowly adjusts to him, wincing a little as she goes. Daryl sits up to hold her to him, praying to any unholy god listening that he'd last for her, despite how long it's been, how much he wants her, how much of a perfect fit she is tucked into his arms. Beth starts to roll her hips though, her lips fused to his throat as she does and no, it may not be graceful or perfect altogether but damnit, it feels amazing. She feels amazing. Daryl's hands clutch at her hips, his own breathing going ragged as she rides him, tightens around him, gulps his name as she comes again.

That's when he finally loses himself, turning her over and fucking her into the sheets through her orgasm, covering her grinning, surprised, enthralled cries with his mouth yet again. He comes hard, jerking and awkward and with every nerve ending burning, and her clutching, kissing, biting here and there all around him. He clutches her close, hands sliding over her angles and softness, murmuring ridiculous nonsense into hair, as well as one fearsome truth, wrenched from him in the moment.

“God I love you,” He breathes, and then winces even in his lingering throes, cause what kind of fucker says it for the first time just after sex? 

The kind of fucker he is, apparently, because his girl is grinning, radiant, framing his face in her hands as she kisses him again. Daryl sighs, his limbs going to mush as her lips move over his, tongue probing his mouth. “I know,” She whispers, ducking into the shelter of his arms again, pressing her face to his skin.

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She starts awake sometime after midnight, staring toward the windows as a cutting howl breaks through the frigid night. Nearby on the bed, Daisy wakes as well, looking to Judith with wide eyes.

“S'it...s'it wolves?”

“Yeah,” Judith murmurs, slowly settling back down, swallowing. “Don't worry. They like us.” She said it with conviction.

She stayed in her bed tonight, though.

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	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned the hell working retail during the holidays is? XD Still, I hope you like.

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She's fairly certain that he's not gonna spook. Still, Beth finds herself moving carefully, softly when she wakes up before Daryl does, her hands barely brushing his skin. They're a tangle in the sheets, having fallen asleep all linked limbs and fused skin. It's warm under his quilts now, the fur of the top cover tickling her cheeks. Beyond the covers the air is chilly around her nose and forehead, dawn still blue through the attic windows. Daryl will wake on his own soon enough, and Glenn's watch would be ending right about now. He'll light all the fires before going to bed with Maggie, and in an hour Daryl will take his shift. 

Thus, they don't need to be up with the dawn today, but they will be anyway, out of habit. Beth presses her face to Daryl's shoulder, warming her cheeks up, hoping they're allowed some time to linger in their nest. Brushing his hair back from his face, tracing his cheekbones with her fingertips, Beth notes how relaxed he is in his sleep, more-so than she'd ever seen when he slept in the front room. She hopes to keep it that way, dipping her head to kiss the scar on his chest, and then his shoulder, his lips. 

That's when he finally stirs. Slowly too, no starting awake, alarmed, like she'd seen happen countless times over the years. Now Daryl slowly hums against her mouth, his firm arms snaking around her waist as he kisses her back. Her slight, strong frame caged in his embrace, Beth grins, reaching up to run her hands through his hair again. “Mornin'.”

“Mornin',” His voice is rough, gravelly, as he's easily turning her over and into the quilts. Beth feels her heart thudding in her chest as he dives in unafraid, unhindered. She's seen him like this when he's protective, when he's fighting. Never with another person. Hints of it, maybe...it makes her shiver under his hands all over again, stomach flopping around, in a good way. She'd wanted all of him for so long it seems, and now she has all of him and it's terrifying and wonderful. It's also still fragile and wild, and Beth hopes to hell she can handle it.

She's doing all right thus far, at least.

“Got any chores that need doin'?” She murmurs sleepily with a coy little smirk, as she's locking arms and legs around him. Daryl grins, ducking his head, lips brushing her ear.

“They'll keep,” He murmurs back, “Got plenty t'do right here.” Beth snorts, snickering in the blue-dark for a few moments before he just about renders her breathless. 

Last night had been a little awkward, sure, all elbows and angles and figuring each other out. It had also been sweet and fiery and aching and far better than anything she could have ever thought up. She knows he's been with other women, yet something about their attachment had always reduced Daryl to someone much younger, less assured of himself. As such, Beth hadn't felt at all alone in the new experience. Both of their nerves had been keyed up and raw, buzzing skin meeting skin, desperate and heated.

This morning is far more languid, easy, though still as if they're crashing into each other, hungry for the wreck of boney limbs and sated flesh they'd make together. Now that she kinda knows what she's doing (and knows that Daryl won't run off on her), Beth takes her time and so does he, moving against each other with intent, hands everywhere, ribs and arms and legs sliding against each other, his lips never far from some unexplored inch of her skin. “How d'you stay so soft?” He asks quietly, lips to her shoulder as his hips press into hers, as her fingers curl in his hair.

“S'called soap,” She gasps, grinning, shutting her eyes and just savoring the feel of him inside of her, rolling her hips up to meet him. He swears against her skin like some soft, unholy prayer as she starts moving in turn, meeting his rhythm. Daryl's mouth covers hers in that starved, desperate way that just about kills her, the way that says everything he doesn't voice. Beth can only give her answer in turn, wrapping her legs around his waist as he thrusts into her.

He pulls her close afterward, after she cries out his name to the rafters, raw lips all in her hair as she's still shaking. Beth presses her cheek to his chest, shutting her eyes, the sweat cooling sharply on the bits of skin that weren't under covers. His thudding heart by her ear, she finds herself with the ridiculous, yet somehow perfectly natural desire to sink into his skin, to somehow become even closer. Daryl's arms almost painfully tight around her, Beth gets the distinct notion that she is not alone in such absurd, lovely thinking. 

“...Love you too, by the way...” She whispers, and he snorts, chuckling into her hair.

“Jesus, girl, gettin' all mushy on me already,” He jokes, voice low and ragged before kissing the top of her head, and Beth sighs happily. She feels him shifting, looking up at the hazy light through their window slowly turning...well, less blue. “S'pose I better go relieve Glenn...” 

“Mmm, if you've got to, I guess,” Beth sighs, smirking when Daryl catches her mouth with his yet again. Then he's untangling himself from her, cursing up a storm as soon as the cold morning air hits his body. She can't help laughing a little, watching him yank on his jeans, shirt and thick socks as fast as he can. Though not, thankfully, before Beth gets a proper eye-full of his lean frame. All rough muscle and sinew marked by her nails, her mouth. He doesn't even flinch when he brushes the dark bruises she'd left across his collarbones last night, just gives her a cocky grin, reaching for his stash of cigarettes and burying them in his jacket pocket. 

“Well, see y'round, I guess,” Daryl jokes, dryly, his grin persistent as he bends to kiss her one more time before he goes. Beth burrows back down in the quilts, biting her lip, watching him go. She only has so long before her chores as well, but...something about prolonging the moment before anyone else had to know about how things had shifted, is appealing.

So is staying the hell under some warm blankets, of course. 

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Clearing his head as he works his way through the floors of the house, Daryl still has a rather persistent smirk around his features by the time he's in the front room. Glenn is building the fire up in the wood stove, and their adult guests are already awake as well, dressed and folding up the couch and bedding for the day. Both Simon and Marco look loads better, more alive even, after a full night's sleep on full stomachs. Well enough to pitch in, in fact.

“Hey,” Daryl nods to Simon, pointedly ignoring Glenn's wry, amused and knowing gaze. “Ever milk a goat?”

“Er, I've milked cows, back in Amish country...?” Simon blinks, and Daryl grins, tossing him one of their spare, thick canvas coats.

“Good enough. I hate it. Lemme introduce you t'Nelly...”

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Beth hums all through her morning chores, but that's nothing new. Maybe she is a little more light on her feet though, sliding across the chilly kitchen floor in two pairs of wool socks. The kettle sings and she presses the crushed, fresh herbs into the tea strainer as always, letting the tea brew in the pot while she put on oats to cook and bread to toast on the wood stove grate. It's all the same routine, really, Maggie hurrying across the yard from the garage with the baby in arms at the same time Karen comes downstairs, yawning. It's just like any other morning among the adult women of their group.

Only now Beth is humming something sappy by Lou Reed, and she's poured three cups of what they affectionately deem “moon tea”, instead of two. Stepping into the kitchen and immediately reaching toward the counter for her waiting, steaming mug of steeped herbs, Maggie pauses, blinks, and gives her sister a wide-eyed stare, while Karen has already started chuckling. 

“Finally,” The latter grins, pouring her tea into a thermos, “Turns out all the excuse he needed was 'the gay couple took my couch'?”

“Very funny,” Beth retorts, knowing she's blushing and not really caring. Maggie's continued stare has her a little unnerved, though, over Orion's flailing, talkative baby form. “...Aren't you the one who's had bets goin'?” She finally asks, clearing her throat, plucking up her own mug and taking a long sip of hot pennyroyal, mint and dandelion leaf. 

“S'not that...” Maggie says around her tea, seeming to shake herself out of her thoughts and back to the present, “I mean, thank god, ya'll were getting ridiculous, s'just...” She sets Orion in his highchair and moves to help with breakfast, while Karen is pulling on her boots and coat, heading outside. She's on duty feeding the animals this morning, “The reality of it, is all.” Maggie sums up, when the door closes behind her. Beth understands.

“I'll be fine,” She says firmly, though she knows what her sister sees. Hell, Beth saw it every day in the mirror. While her expressions had grown older, her body stronger, Beth is still small. Maggie got the hardier build, Beth's remains slight. If the herbs ever failed her...

“...Way to be downer sis, jeez.” That gets Maggie laughing, snorting, sighing as she drains her cup.

“Yer right, sorry, and with you bein' all responsible right away an' all,” The elder Greene concedes, stirring the oatmeal on the range, “Congratulations.”

“Why thank you,” Beth feels her cheeks grow ever warmer, her smile wider as she turns the toast.

“You two are somethin', too,” Her sister goes on, thoughtfully, fondly, “He loves you like crazy, you know.”

“It's mutual,” Beth murmurs, ducking her head. 

“Course it is, I 'aint blind,” Maggie kisses the side of her head as she passes, reaching for last night's butter for the oats, “...Gotta say, though,” Her tone goes wry again, and Beth cocks a brow. Maggie is all evil grins, “Daryl Dixon in the sack, I think most of us've wondered...”

“And ya'll can keep right on wonderin',” Beth states primly. Her red face and the teeth digging into her bottom lip are telling enough. Maggie busts out laughing, whistling, and patting her sister on the back. She eases up, of course, when Judith and her new friends wander in.

Judith is perceptive as ever though, and had the face of a wee girl who just knows that her 'parents' have become much happier together. With her little arms around her waist, Beth finally allows herself to indulge in the full bliss of what had evolved, as she makes the whole household their breakfast.

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The barn isn't as cold as it might be, what with the scrounged blankets and foam insulating and semi-sound-proofing the walls, the animals in their cozy sawdust and straw. Still, the cold does frost the inside of one's nose, and Daryl wonders if a stove in the barn might not be prudent, at least for a couple hours a day. He might be floating a bit, but Daryl aint off his guard, and he kind of prides himself on this fact. Life may happen as it would, bad or wonderfully, amazingly good, he could keep his head on task. And at the moment, he'd eyes on the walls and an ear trained on Simon's chatty nature, now that the man wasn't starving to death. 

“These animals are very healthy,” The other man notes presently, having eased one of the nannies within moments, milking her easily, “Not that I've worked with many goats, but I mean, some things are universal. They're good weights, giving good milk...”

“S'a miracle then, considerin' we lost our vet a couple years back,” Daryl notes, carefully filling troughs for the pigs and goats with their rationed feed, grain and leftovers from the house, mostly. He feels Simon's eyes on his and Karen's operation, the latter tending the out of season piglets in the far corner. 

“You had a proper doctor for a while, then?”

“Beth an' Maggie's pa, yeah,” Daryl nods, slapping the biggest hog on the haunch. He was a fat, tender bastard, but also one of their only sires. His bacon remained safe for another season. “Tough ol' man, too. Survived losin' a leg, treatin' folks through a nasty flu...lived long 'nuff to know his oldest was havin' his grandkid.” He shakes his head, knowing he's rambling. Daryl's pretty sure he can be forgiven, though, for his lingering thoughts of Hershel. He wonders if the man would be all right with he and Beth...Daryl's inclined to believe he would, which is saying something about the state of his self esteem. Hershel had died with Daryl's promise in his ears, that he'd protect his girls with his life...

“That's real lucky,” Simon is saying, sighing, setting a full milk pail aside and moving his stool over, tempting Nervous Nelly to his side, “Doctor of any kind would've been a boon to us, times past...” His head tilts as he milks, and Daryl glances his way as he speaks up again, “Y'know, we passed by a feed store up on route 4...”

“Eh we've seen it,” Daryl replies, shrugging, “Didn't bother though, too many experiences of findin' grain eaten out by rats or bugs, if it aint gone to mold.”

“No, that's just it,” Simon interjects, actually looking up and grinning this time, “This place was small, independent, I'm guessing. All their feed was stored in air-tight bins, in sealed rooms.” Daryl blinks, tilting his head, listening a fair bit closer now, “We had no means to do much with the oats, seed and such. But the controlled rooms had some canned things, an employee pantry. Nabbed some cups of soup, weren't stale at all. We heated up some oats in hot water, they were fine. Just...no means of keeping them, until we found you folks.”

“...Huh,” Daryl responds, thoughtfully, eying the few sacks of feed they had to their farmstead. They'd planned to fill in with plenty of dried corn and leftovers, but their flocks were growing and that wouldn't cut it for long. Real grain seed and oats would go a long way. “...Right, let's say a few days from now, and after a few good meals, you lot show us this place, yeah?”

“S'the least we can do in return,” Simon replies earnestly, and Daryl decides he's liking this guy more and more.

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	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why hello! Thanks for bearing with. I've beaten back some writer's block to bring you this (new episodes have certainly helped!). I had meant for this one to end on a cliffhanger, but I find that going for thirteen chapters instead, and letting this end on a sweet, if very foreshadow-y note worked better. Thanks for all the encouragement, it ALWAYS helps.

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_And have you been through the sea, on the night.  
Hold me tight. Babe, we've got it..._

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There's cornbread with dinner that night, as there is with most every meal now, and new, appreciative house guests with which to share it makes them all just as appreciative again. Beth thinks it's some funny tick from the old world that's never left them; that even after seven years without much variety to their diets, they can get bone-weary of something. Ever the optimist, she takes it as a good sign. Hell, she'd been the one to grind the stuff, she's tired of cornmeal-based foods too.

But that is winter, had always been winter. Sameness, canned flavors, being thankful for even the food that just begins to feel like a chewing exercise.

As soon as everyone finishes their meals and moves into the warm, lively conversation that always follows dinner in a world without much entertainment, Marcia springs up to help Tamika and Glenn with the dishes. The girl is still very weak, thin, but she waves off any protests, "It's the least I can do. And if we're going to stay..."

"We're not troubling them for long, Marcie." Marco tells her gently, but Beth only smiles, shaking her head.

"We'll see," She maintains, glancing Daryl's way, and then Maggie's. She knew that over the course of the day and the last evening, their household had become progressively less all right about just sending the little family on their way after a few meals. Especially after the nugget of information Simon had shared, regarding the feed store. If they could keep their herd fat and happy, they'd be able to keep more mouths around. More strong arms around were always welcomed, and those girls were just children...

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Daryl has the first watch after dinner, but after that they've the whole night to themselves. Beth tries not to let on her giddy nerves as she helps tidy and lock down the house for the night, but it's kind of pointless. Privacy only means so much among a dozen people sharing a living space. At least everyone has the grace not to comment, beyond Maggie's knowing grin and Judith's terribly innocent exclamation before bedtime, that she was "SOOO glad Daryl aint sleepin' alone no more. It's dangerous!"

Beth tucks her girl in with Daisy and Marcie once more, pleased with how distracted and...normal, Judith seemed, having gotten used to the idea of other children. Nothing wild or weird stirred in her gaze as she kissed Beth goodnight after their nightly reading from Laura Ingalls, leaping giggling into her big bed with the other little girl and the indulgent twelve year old.

The generators off, fires banked and the youngsters in bed, Beth calls her goodnights as she ascends the stairs through the floors of the house, not for the first time reminded of some cheesy old rerun of The Waltons as she does. She's not the only one, either.

"G'night Beth-Anne!" Carl calls, and she snorts.

"Night John-Boy, Night Tamika-Sue!"

"Y'folks are a hoot," She hears Marco call from below. Beth laughs as she pulls down the attic stairs.

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When Daryl joins her an hour or two later Beth is burrowed deep into their quilts, engrossed in her own well-worn book that she's been working on for the better part of a year. He chuckles as he kicks off his boots, sets his crossbow at the foot of the bed and pulls off his layers. "How long you been workin' on that thing, girl?" He asks, and Beth gives her beaten, bent copy of A Clash of Kings a rueful sigh.

"Takin' my time on purpose," She says, carefully tucking a needlepoint bookmark between the pages before setting it aside, "When everything happened, the author still had two books left to write, so..."

"That sucks," Daryl allows, dropping his jeans, and Beth feels her throat go dry, looking up at him as he tosses away his t-shirt, "Can always write yer own ending." That was downright whimsical of him, and Beth grins, reaching for him as he slides under the covers.

"Plan on it," She murmurs, tugging him down for kiss, which he gives her without the barest hint of reservation. The opposite, even, parting her lips and pressing her down into the pillows, groaning, grasping at her waist, her ribs. Like he can't ever get enough, now that it's happening, and she's much the same. They're like some bizarre version of newlyweds, the crazy notion passing through her head unbidden as she clutches at his hair, his back.

They were, though. Odd friendship, to awkward courtship, to reveling, starving, ecstatic connection. Beth slides her fingers over now-familiar scars, tracing angles and creases and loving the way he gasps into her mouth when her touch reaches the insides of his hip bones. "Yer so beautiful," He all but prays against her lips, kissing her again, rendering her boneless as he does.

"I wanna try somethin'," She tells him in a whisper, after he tugs her tanktop off and over her head. She grins when he just blinks down at her, his fingers stuttering still against her skin. It's his face for when she says or does something that blindsides him, and Beth knows it, taking advantage of his lust-blank head to roll over, push him back to the bed. She's halfway down his torso before Daryl regains his bearings, sliding a rough hand into her long hair as she trails kisses over his stomach.

"...Darlin', you don't have to-..."

"Course I don't," Beth smirks, biting her lip and tugging off his boxers, "I want to." He swallows, hard, grip tightening on her hair. She gets the notion that maybe Daryl's got it in his head that being a virgin for 23 years equals hesitancy, unfamiliarity...which is very much a wrong notion. It meant quite a few years of aching all over, of being hungry to dive in, to try.

He hisses out a curse to the ceiling at the first tentative stroke of her tongue, first just inside those sharp hipbones of his, and then along the swiftly hardening length of him. Her eyes flicker back up to his face as she takes his cock in hand, tasting the skin there, and when she grins up at him a guttural groan leaves his throat. That grin is downright triumphant, too, before she grows bolder with her hands, her mouth.

The long string of curses that leaves his mouth when her lips finally wrap around his cock, the way his hands can't decide what to do with themselves, it's more than worth the ache building in her jaw. There's a more persistent ache between her legs, and after a few more minutes, as if he knows both things through his haze, Daryl's abruptly tugging her away from her task and up to his mouth, kissing her hungrily, turning her over onto the bed.

"Gonna get me off too soon," He rumbles against her brow, his breathing heavy, fingers sliding between her thighs, over her clit, "And I like comin' here." Beth lets out a breathy giggle in turn, that dissolves into a keening noise as those fingers move. They're still crashing into each other, but they've found the pitch, and he can already ply her, fingering her up to orgasm in just a few moments. Daryl covers Beth's curses with his mouth, pushing inside of her.

Through the thunder roaring in her veins, Beth knows she surprises him again when she turns them back over, straddling him. He sits up to meet her though, still kissing her, as if he doesn't ever want to stop, doesn't ever want her to stop rocking down onto his cock the way she is. She's never felt quite so powerful as she does then, clutching his coming, wrecked frame to her chest.

"Was right t'be scared of lovin' you," He mumbles into her hair once they're under their covers once more, wrapped up close and warm. Beth grins, eying him over her shoulder. "Gonna kill me one'a these nights, darlin'."

"Think we both know," She replies, turning over in his arms to press kisses along his jaw, "There's way worse ways to go."

"Mhmm," He yawns, shutting his eyes, though his arm tightens around her possessively, and Beth's heart could just about burst, "All tangled with you, definitely my first choice."

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Dawn is frosty and blue outside the kitchen windows, a fresh layer of snow on the ground. Judith is up before her new-found peers as usual, but remains inside, scratching patterns into the frosty window panes, like in Mama's book. The fires aren't yet lit, so the girl is bundled up in Daryl's poncho against the early winter chill, and her nails draw out stars and flowers and swirls in the cold glass until it's too much. She stuffs her little fingers in her mouth to warm them back up.

While she tends her icy digits, the first full rays of sunshine shoot over the far-off treeline. Judith squints, and then grins when she spots Carl making his way back toward the house over the snowy fields and lawn. His rifle is slung over his shoulder, his head dipped into the first morning breezes, the brim of his father's hat hiding his face. Their rotating watches well-known now, Aunt Maggie is already up and leaving her and Glenn's apartment over the garage, patting Carl's arm and taking his rifle. As her big brother nears the backdoor Judith scurries down from the window and toward the counter, climbing up on a chair to grab two big coffee mugs.

"...Hey, sprout," Carl grins when he spots her, speaking low and softly. The house, at large, is still asleep. Judith smiles back, offering the mugs shyly. "Aint been up to have cocoa with me in a while."

"You've been busy bein' in love," Judith forgives him with the easy statement, letting her chuckling sibling take over the task of carefully portioning out their small hot chocolate stash. Judith's gaze drifts back to the window, sucking in a deep breath as a dark, far-off, loping shape slips along the treeline. The wolf moves away though, back into the trees, and not even Maggie notices.

"You're still my girl," Carl brings her back to the kitchen, to human thoughts, striking a match to light the range, "Don't need to stay away, Tamika loves y'too. I know though, s'weird, your big brother having a girlfriend..." The kettle set over the flames, he then moves to light the wood stove, setting his hat on the counter before he kneels to stack the wood, to kindle the twigs, finally glancing at her, spotting her expression. "...Y'all right, Judy?" He was the only one who got to call her that.

"...Yeah," She gulps, tucking her dark, short hair behind her ears, sitting down, gnawing on her bottom lip like some feral little thing, "I miss sayin' hi to the wolves." A wary look passes over her brother's face. But he doesn't scold right away, or start asking weird questions she doesn't understand, like Mama or Maggie always do. Not right away, at least.

"They're wild animals," He reminds her evenly, stuffing old newspapers in with the kindling, lighting it, "You know wild animals are dangerous."

"Not to me! ...Least, the wolves aren't," She thinks hard for a moment, suddenly remembering a conversation from what seems a long time ago, but wasn't, not really, "...What was my papa like, Carl? My blood-one?" His motions do become slower then, carefully closing the stove and adjusting the floo, rising, thinking.

"...Beth told me you'd been asking questions," He tells her softly, turning to face her, to ruffle her hair fondly, "He was tough, Judy. But...not like Daryl's tough, or Tyreese when he's gotta be...or my-...or me," He bites his lip, looking at her looking up at him with big, dark eyes. She doesn't know how much she already looks like their mother, and it makes Carl pluck her up, hold her close, speaking softer, into her dark curls. "He didn't know when t'stop bein' wild. Maybe he couldn't, I dunno. Y'know how it is already though, sis...y'know when the time is to wild, to fight, and when the time is to be still."

Judith shuts her eyes, clutching tight to his coat as the room grows warm. Yes, yes she did know. Carl and Daryl and Mama and Tyreese and Glenn and Maggie had all taught her.

So, maybe it wasn't so bad, that she was a wolf. As long as she was just a wolf sometimes.

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End file.
